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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Public Speaking and Reading 



A TREATISE ON DELIVERY 



ACCORDING TO THE PRINCIPLES OF THE NEW 
ELOCUTION 




E. N.TCIRBY, A.B. 



FORMERLY INSTRUCTOR IN ELOCUTION IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY AND PROFESSOR 
OF ELOCUTION AND ORATORY IN BOSTON UNIVERSITY 




&£" 



BOSTON 
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 



10 MILK STREET 



I896 



V*. 



X 






Copyright, 1895, by Lee and Shepard 



A II Rights Reserved 



PUBLIC SPEAKING 



TYPOGRAPHY BY C J. PETERS & SON, BOSTON. 



PRESS OF S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON. 



PREFACE 



The principles of this treatise are in accord with what 
may reasonably be called the " New Elocution."' The term 
" New Elocution " describes, in the first place, the style of 
delivery in vogue among the representative speakers of to- 
day, and in the second place, the method employed by the 
best teachers of the subject. The style of delivery, espe- 
cially since the oratory of Wendell Phillips and Henry Ward 
Beecher, has been conversational at basis ; that is, it has 
been simple, direct, varied, and spontaneous. The new 
method of teaching lays stress mainly upon mental condi- 
tions. It recognizes more fully that man is mind as well 
as body ; and it aims at making the speaker skilful, by at- 
tending to the mental, as well as the physical and vocal 
conditions. 

Again, contrary to the usual methods, I have taken up 
Delivery from the rhetorician's point of view, and have 
developed it according to the principles of accepted psy- 
chology ; while from the beginning to the end the practical 
requirements of the subject have been kept in view. These 
features, together with the doctrine of the conversational 
basis, make the method pre-eminently a natural one. 

Without attempting to give a full account in this place of 
the distinguishing features of the book, the author calls 
special attention, to Book II., Chapter i., on "The Mental 
Content of Language. " 

While the book will greatly benefit any student, it by no 
means supplants the teacher ; for without thorough practice 
and study, very few persons are able to accurately inspect 

7 



8 PREFACE 

their own effort. Then, too, the ability to diagnose one's 
own or another's needs is comparable to the physician's 
skill, and is gained only by prolonged practice in teaching. 
Moreover, to secure the best results, a teacher to illustrate 
and exemplify the principles will be necessary. 

This treatise is adapted to the laboratory method of 
instruction. The student is taught the principles of the 
art, the instruments and elements are named, the problems 
are set, and he is required to experiment for himself under 
the eye and ear of the teacher; he is then shown wherein 
he fails or succeeds. Only as the individual is reached 
can instruction be made effective ; and each teacher as 
well as student will, soon or late, find out how farcical, with- 
out supplementary practice given to the individual, is the 
attempt to treat large classes. 

While presenting the principles, training for physical and 
vocal development should be given from the start. Each 
teacher must determine for himself, however, the pedagogi- 
cal order of the instruction. 

This book is the result of much study, and considerable 
experience in teaching in High Schools, in Harvard Uni- 
versity, and in Boston University. 

The author sends it out in the belief that it will help 
many teachers, and will aid in the promotion of good speak- 
ing. It will be found best adapted to colleges and prepara- 
tory schools. 

Although there is very little in this book directly attribu- 
table to my former teachers, with pleasure I acknowledge 
my indebtedness to the late Dean Monroe as a leader in 
the New Elocution, and as the first teacher to show me the 
importance of affecting the mental conditions. Wherever 
due, I have given special credit in the body of the book. 

Cambridge, June 7, 1895. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Preface , . . 3 

Introduction . . . '. 13 

Speaking Distinguished from Reading 14 

Public Speaking is Conversational at Basis 16 

Predominant and Subordinate Processes ........ 17 

The Main Problem lj 

The Lesser Problem 20 

Individuality 21 



PART I 

Principles of Public Speaki?ig 

BOOK I 

Essentials of Public Speaking 

CHAPTER 

I. Clearness 27 

Force 28 

Elegance 29 

BOOK II 
Sources of the Essentials of Public Speaking 

I. Mental Content of Language 34 

Sec. I. Attention t>7 

II. Analysis 38 

1. Meaning as a whole 39 

2. Logical Relations 40 

3. Meaning of the Words 41 

4. New Idea . 41 

5. Ellipses 42 

6. Imagination 43 

7. Associated Ideas ... 44 

8. Emotions 45 

9 



10 TABLE OF CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

II. Earnestness 50 

III. Physical Vitality 54 

IV. Control 56 

V. Reserved Force 62 

Specialization of Function 63 

VI. Conversational Basis 65 

VII. The Audience 68 

1. Communicative Attitude 70 

2. Deferential Attitude 71 

VIII. Good-Will 72 

IX. Variety 74 

BOOK III 

Elements of the Essentials of Public Speaking 

I. Elements of Clearness 76 

Sec. I. Enunciation 76 

1. Syllabication 76 

2. Accent jj 

3. Vowel Moulding jy 

4. English Vowels yS 

5. English Consonants 79 

II. Emphasis 80 

III. Phrasing, or Grouping 82 

IV. Transition S^ 

II. Elements of Force 86 

*• Sec. I. A Good Voice 86 

1. Strength ....." 86 

2. Flexibility S7 

3. Purity of Tone Sy 

4. Range of Pitch S7 

5. Resonance 8S 

6. Vocal Defects 91 

7. Vocal Development 92 

Sec. II. Kinds of Voice 99 

1. Voice of Pure Tone 99 

2. Full Voice 100 

3. Aspirate Voice 100 

4. Guttural Voice 100 



TABLE OF CONTENTS II 

CHAPTER PAGE 

II. Elements of Force — Continued 

Kinds Classified ioo 

i. Intellective Voice ioo 

2. Vital Voice 101 

3. Affectional Voice 101 

III. Inflection 103 

IV. Rhythm 106 

V. Melody of Speech no 

VI. Stress 112 

VII. Loudness '. 113 

VIII. Time or Rate 113 

IX. Climax 114 

X. Imitative Modulation 115 

XI. Gesture 116 

Subjective Gesture 118 

Picture-Making Gesture 119 

Laws of Gesture 119 

Praxis 121 

Criteria 124-130 

III. Elements of Elegance 131 

Sec. I. Harmony of Function 131 

II. Pronunciation 132 

35 



III. Agreeable Voice 1 

IV. Strong and Graceful Movements i 



j: 



1. Physical Development 135 



PART II 

Praxis in Delivery 

Analysis of a Speech 140 

Types of Deliyery 145 



INDEX TO SELECTIONS 

Antony's Oration Shakespeare .... 140 

White Horse Hill Tho7?ias Hughes . . . 146 

The May Pole of Merry Mount . . . Natha7iiel Hawthorne . 14S 



12 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Await the Issue T/ios. Carlyle 

National Bankruptcy Mirabeau . 

Brutus and Cassius Shakespeare 

Brutus, Cassius, and Casca .... Shakespeare 

Paul Revere's Ride Longfellow . 

An Order for a Picture Alice Cary . 

Skill and Beauty in Art John Ruskin 

The Boston Massacre Geo. Bancroft 

Rip Van Winkle, Part I Washington Irving 

" " Part II " " 

Tom Pinch's Journey to London . . . Charles Dickens . 

The Cloud P. B. Shelley . . 

Public Dishonesty H. W. Beecher 

Eloquence Daniel Webster . 

The Orator's Art John Quincy Adams 

From Henry V Shakespeare 

Herve Riel, Part I Robert Browning . 

" " Part II " " 

Hamlet's Advice to the Players . . . Shakespeare . 

Othello's Defence ....... Shakespeare 

The Scholar in a Republic .... Wendell Phillips . 

The Problem of the New South . H. W. Grady 

The Scholar in Politics . . . . . G. W. Curtis . 

Hyder Ali's Revenge Burke .... 

Havelock's Highlanders W. Brock . 



151 

J 53 

"55 

158 

161 

165 
166 
170 
172 
177 
179 
• 182 
184 
185 
186 
186 
189 
191 
192 
194 
197 
200 

201 
204 



PUBLIC SPEAKING 



INTRODUCTION 

Public Speaking is the art of efficient public communica- 
tion by spoken and gesticular language. 1 Reading and reci- 
tation, in short, all kinds of delivery, before few or many, are 
included under this term. The subject includes all that is 
now taught as rhetoric and delivery. Anciently, as is indi- 
cated by the Greek word prjrup, meaning speaker, Rhetoric 
was identical with Public Speaking. " Aristotle/' says Pro- 
fessor Hill, " makes the very essence of rhetoric to lie in 
the distinct recognition of an audience." 

This treatise deals with the fundamental processes of 
Public Speaking, and especially with those involved in the 
act of Delivery. It assumes familiarity with the technique 
of what is now taught as rhetoric. Those who lack this 
assumed familiarity are referred to books on rhetoric for 
such topics as the Choice and Use of Words, the Doctrine 
of the Sentence and the Paragraph, Figures of Speech, Dif- 
ferent kinds of Composition, Style, and other topics con- 
nected with Composition. 

Extensive Knowledge, a Reliable Memory, Logical Skill, 
and Tact, utilizing common-sense and a knowledge of hu- 
man nature by means of which the speaker adapts the 
speech and its delivery to a particular audience, are among 
the sources of power in Public Speaking. 

But as these topics belong more to the preparation than to 
the delivery of the speech, they are dismissed from consid- 
eration in this book. 

1 See Principles of Rhetoric, by A. S. Hill, p. i. 
13 



14 INTRODUCTION 

The related sciences of Grammar, Logic, ^Esthetics, and 
Ethics contribute their laws to the art. Hence the confu- 
sion of those who .^peak of the subject as a science. 

As the subject is an art, it has skill as its aim ; and from 
the beginning to the end, in this attempt to methodize in- 
struction in Public Speaking, this aim is kept before the 
student ; and a distinct effort made to render him skilful 
in commanding the principles to which, consciously or un- 
consciously, effective speaking must always conform. Ac- 
cordingly, instead of the hopeless method of prescribing 
innumerable rules impossible of application, this treatise 
aims to thoroughly analyze the sources and elements of the 
essentials of the art, and to exhibit the leading excellences 
that must be cultivated in contrast with the faults that are 
to be corrected. 

The art of making a speech involves, usually, the process 
of reproducing a set of ideas upon some subject. If there 
has been previous reflection upon a subject, whether the 
discourse has been written or not, it is, in its delivery, a re- 
production. But effective reproduction is creative, and not 
mechanical. Moreover, discourse created or re-created at 
the point of delivery is extemporaneous. Hence, in the 
praxis of written or printed selections, since creation or 
recreation as a central and essential idea is strenuously 
insisted on, the discipline of this work qualifies for the 
delivery of either written or unwritten matter. 

Speaking Distinguished from Reading. 

To further distinguish the properties of delivery, it is 
important to recognize the wide difference between readi?ig 
and speaking. Listening to the delivery of a person who is 
out of sight, you can ordinarily determine whether he is 
reading (that is, delivering from manuscript or the printed 
page) or speaking (that is, composing in the act of delivery). 



INTRODUCTION 1 5 

Without being able to analyze the difference, any one can 
also distinguish between the delivery in the ordinary reading 
of a newspaper or book, and that of ordinary conversation ; 
this, too, when the style of the composition does not betray 
the difference ; for it can be determined by the tones, even 
when the words and sentences are not distinguishable. 
What, then, constitutes the difference between these two 
styles of delivery? 

In reading, the delivery is more uniform. The pitch, 
the degree of force, the length and place of the pauses, 
vary but little. It is popularly called u monotonous," " inex- 
pressive ; " and where great force or loudness is employed 
this delivery is characterized as " declamatory," " heavy," 
"noisy," as "spouting," "preaching." A single word, 
then, variety, describes the distinguishing characteristic of 
conversational or speaking delivery. In speaking, the pitch, 
the kind of voice, the rate, the pause, and all other elements 
of delivery, are continually changing. It has the variability 
of life. 

The ground of this variability is the way the mind acts. 
In reading, there is little differentiation of the thoughts : 
the emotion is unvaried. It is indeed, mainly, the emotion 
connected with a kind of chant, and closely associated with 
the sense of rhythm. In this form of expression the mind 
is less alert, and it runs along " the line of the least resist- 
ance." 

On the other hand, in conversation we have the original 
function, and also the very essence of all language. As 
spoken language precedes written language, so also the 
delivery of the unwritten word precedes the delivery of 
the written word. Moreover, the function of language is a 
social one, and hence presupposes one mind communicating 
with another, — indeed, one person thinking with another ; 
for in real conversation, thought and word are one. In 
conversation, the expression is more spontaneous, more 



l6 INTRODUCTION 

direct. The sub-processes (that is, the processes producing 
voice and gesture) are held in their subordinate places. 
Mind appears to act more immediately upon mind without 
being conscious of the media of communication. The 
thought and feeling are created in the act of delivery. 

With that other use of the word " reading," meaning the 
expressional delivery of what another has composed, we 
are not at present concerned. Our purpose is rather to con- 
trast reading with speaking; and to show that the former is 
mechanical, and the latter creative, or expressive, delivery. 

This distinction between reading and speaking is the 
popular one. The majority of people dislike sermons that 
are read in contrast to those that are spoken. In this 
treatise, " speaking w includes the delivery of all forms of 
written or unwritten matter that creates the thought in 
the act of delivery. 

" Reading " (that is, word-delivery or statistical represen- 
tation of facts), requires only distinct enunciation of words, 
and, hence, expressional discipline is unnecessary. The 
purpose of all elocutionary practice aims at speaking as its 
legitimate goal. 

Public Speaking is Conversational at Basis. 

According to this analysis, speaking, conversation, and 
extemporaneous delivery, are essentially the same. Each 
has the same property of variety. In each the mind acts 
with the same spontaneity and directness. Each, too, 
creates or re-creates the ideas at the point of delivery. As 
distinguished from these, Public Speaking, according to the 
most approved delivery, may be further characterized as 
the heightened conversational. At basis it is simple, direct, 
spontaneous, varied, creative ; but heightened in pitch, force, 
and in the other elements, as determined by the emotional 
content of the discourse. Corresponding to this, it is to 
be observed that " declamatory," or " orotund," delivery is 



INTRODUCTION 1 7 

heightened reading. This form of reading-delivery also is 
to be avoided. 

Predominant and Subordinate Processes. 

One of the difficulties in Public Speaking arises from the 
great number and variety of the processes. Some of these 
processes are predominant, and others are subordinate. 
Now, in all speaking, good or bad, the predominant pro- 
cesses are the ones that express themselves. Hence the 
importance of making the ideas to be communicated the 
predominant processes, and the means to this end the sub- 
ordinate ones. Frequently, however, through lack of skill, 
the processes that should be subordinate become predomi- 
nant ones. The speaker obviously puzzles over the gram- 
mar, the rhetoric, or the gesture of his address. At one time 
the speaker gives his main effort to discerning the words of 
his manuscript ; at another (as in memoriter delivery) he is 
absorbed in the labor of recalling the language. Instead, 
all of those operations of mind and body that may be 
regarded as means, are to be held in their places as sub- 
processes. The thought and feeling, together with the 
volitional attitude which the speaker intends to produce in 
the mind of the hearer, are always to be regarded as the 
predominant process ; and hence should form the leading 
content of the speaker's mind. 

The Main Problem. 

The main problem before the student is to secure the 
right mental action. When this is done, the body responds. 

First, the thought and feeling intended as the predominant 
process, and constituting the speech proper, or the matter of 
the address, is clearly, from beginning to end, the result of 
mental activity. This mastery of the ideas of the discourse 
constitutes the primary aspect of the Main Problem. 

In the second place, voice and its various modifications, 



1 8 INTRODUCTION 

gesture — in short, the use of all of the instruments or 
means of communication constituting the subordinate pro- 
cesses, or the maimer of the address, vaguely regarded by 
some as physical changes, are also the result of mental 
activity. We mean to say, in brief, that no one can produce 
a sound, or change a pitch, or make a gesture, without the 
action of the mind. The proper use of the voice and other 
agents of expression depends, therefore, upon right mental 
action, as fully as does the mastery of the ideas. Such 
proper use of the means constitutes the secondary aspect of 
the Main Problem. 

For the solution of this Main Problem, both the subjective 
and the objective treatment are employed. The subjective 
treatment deals directly with the content of the mind ; that 
is, with the thought and feeling. 

The thought and feeling are analyzed and dwelt upon. 
Related ideas are brought forward ; and thus, by dealing 
with the factors of the mind directly, we seek to promote 
right mental action with reference to the subject-matter and 
its expression. This treatment is more fully developed 
under the chapter on "The Content of Language. " 

In the objective treatment, however, we call attention to 
the agents (the chest, the mouth, the hands, etc.), and to the 
elements (emphasis, pitch, etc.), expressive of the thought 
and feeling. 

The objective treatment is based upon the fact that bodily 
states affect mental states ; hence, by assuming the physical 
attitude, the corresponding mental state is initiated and pro- 
moted. We not only entreat the angry man not be angry, 
but also coax him to sit down and not speak so loudly ; that 
is, to assume the act and attitude of composure. Practically, 
an emotion and its expression are one and the same thing. 
The emotion of the sublime, for instance, is developed by 
assuming the low pitch, measured time, and approximate 
monotone expressive of this emotion. This treatment, 



( 
\ 



INTRODUCTION 19 

reaching the mind by calling attention to the physical states, 
is the shorthand method of every-day life. Just as the 
child is told to "quit whining," and to "straighten out" his 
face, so also, in elocutionary training, we say, " Speak 
louder," " Pause more frequently," " Speak on a lower 
pitch." 

The objective treatment, therefore, promotes not only the 
proper use of the agents and elements of expression, but 
also a mastery of the subject-matter, or the ideas in process 
of delivery. For instance, the intention to lift the voice to 
a higher pitch with increased ictus, as a means of rendering 
it emphatic, makes that w T ord prominent, and hence em- 
phatic in the mind. The mind, in turn, reacts upon the 
voice, and promotes that intention. The effect is reciprocal. 
Thus it is seen that the subjective and objective treatment 
are the two ways of promoting right mental action. 

The discipline here recommended develops the power to 
think at the point of delivery, or to think through delivery, 
and also to master the technique or to use the instruments 
of Expression. 

At the risk of being tedious to some, we will further illus- 
trate the subjective and objective treatment. 

" The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof ; the 
world, and they that dwell therein." 

The subjective treatment of this sentence requires that 
the student understand the history of the psalm of which it 
forms a part, the occasion and method of its use as an an- 
tiphonal psalm in the temple service ; dwell upon each word ; 
analyze the thought ; especially, develop the emotional con- 
tent of the sentence. The feeling is one of majesty, of tri- 
umph, and splendidly sublime. Notice, according to the 
method of Hebrew poetry, that the second clause repeats 
the idea of the first, and hence is not differentiated as a 
new thought. In short, apply the method of the chapter 
on " The Content of Language." 



20 INTRODUCTION 

In reading this psalm, if the student find himself delivering 
it on a high pitch, with metallic ring and rapid rate, the 
objective treatment orders him to use a lower pitch, to slow 
rate, full tone, full major slides, and with due observance 
of the rhythm. 

A too exclusive use of the objective treatment is a feature 
of the old elocution, and runs into the mechanical. 

The Lesser Problem. 

The lesser problem before the student is to modify or 
remove bodily limitations. Obviously, some limitations are 
only partially, and others not at all removable. It is as- 
sumed, however, that the most important organs are modi- 
fiable, and that especially their functions may be rendered 
more full, economic, and accurate. Faulty breathing may 
be corrected, the chest capacity developed, vocal quality 
improved, the bearing and movement rendered strong, grace- 
ful, and free — in short, all the organs of speech and gesture 
may be developed, and the channels cleared for the prompt, 
accurate, and full expression of the mental states. 

In exercises for physical and vocal development, the 
organs, as such, are dealt with. Even in such exercise, how- 
ever, the feelings and imagination are utilized ; and as bodily 
limitations are oftenest functional, the main and the lesser 
problems nearly merge into the one problem of disciplining 
the mind's action. Moreover, in this technical training on 
special non-expressive exercises for physical and vocal de- 
velopment, from the very beginning, the expressional use of 
the organs is anticipated. 

The principles of Public Speaking can be realized only in 
use ; and to point out the specific excellences and faults of 
any delivery requires the skill of an experienced practitioner. 
Hence the teacher becomes a trainer, enabling the pupil to 
accomplish what, in all probability, he never would accom- 
plish alone. 



INTRODUCTION 21 



Individuality. 



In the practical pursuit of the subject, the question of in- 
dividuality, or personality, arises. The method here offered, 
dealing as it does with general principles, and directing the 
main effort to realize the thought in the act of delivery, in- 
stead of prescribing absolute and arbitrary forms, ought to 
be a sufficient guarantee that individuality, or personality, 
will have all the freedom it can reasonably claim. 

It is to be conceded that all good speakers do not speak 
alike. On the other hand, every one needs to remove, as far 
as possible, vocal and bodily limitations ; to suppress glaring 
mannerisms ; to develop versatility and responsiveness to 
thought and feeling outside of the individual habits. Moods 
of the individual that impede the realization of the thought 
and feeling of the subject must be subordinated or practi- 
cally eliminated, and a broader capacity developed. To 
mention a specific and marked case, a person of an over- 
serious mood must develop the possibility of other moods. 
Again, a speaker who conceives an idea merely as fact must 
also realize it as an emotion. 

Development in expressional power is always in the direc- 
tion of emotional mastery. That which is narrow, accidental, 
and limited, must give place to the varied and universal. 
The difference among speakers is attributable to the different 
ways of realizing the thought, or what amounts to the same 
thing, the different way the thought affects each emotionally. 
Take the following sentence for an illustration : — 

' 'All in the valley of death 
Rode the six hundred. " 

This may be conceived merely as a fact : there were six 
hundred men in this charge here described. There may 
have been a few more or less, or possibly just six hundred. 
They all without exception rode forward at the command. 



22 • INTRODUCTION 

The enemy were in front, to right and left — a valley; and, 
as we know, it was death to most of them. 

Again, this may be conceived as fact that affects the 
speaker emotionally. The leading emotion may be that of 
horror at the thought of these soldiers, because of a blunder, 
marching to almost inevitable death. In this conception 
the word " all " has more than statistical value. It shows 
the extent of the doom. " Valley of Death'' now takes on 
a more sombre color. It is not merely a historic fact, but 
a present reality. Imagination reproduces the scene. The 
" valley" and "riders," with "cannon in front," "to right" 
and "left," volleying and thundering, are in sight. 

Still another conception may arouse feelings of admiration 
and heroism as we see the splendid discipline and bravery 
of these men. This conception will emotionally affect all of 
the subordinate ideas. The words, " all," " valley of death," 
and so all the rest, which have much in common, are changed 
from the first conception. These, and possibly other con- 
ceptions, may be combined. Moreover, in any conception 
that intends to reproduce the thought of another, the variety 
of lights and shades and crossings of emotions are almost 
endless. ' 

Again, the character, the culture of the individual, not 
to mention his peculiarities, will contribute an important 
element. No two minds reproduce the same thought in 
the same way. No speaker reproduces his own ideas in the 
same way. 

It is just this difference in conception that gives largest 
opportunity to individuality or personality. Not only men- 
tal quality, but the nervous system and physical conditions, 
are a part of the matter. I have found frequently that some 
mannerism, which was the result of nervous conditions, or 
which was capriciously or possibly accidentally adopted, was 
as tenaciously held to as the most sacred attribute of person- 
ality. We must distinguish between peculiarity and per- 



INTRODUCTION 23 

sonality. Things of habit, good or bad, are dear to us. 
The student of speaking should be sane. In fact, the 
nervous state and dominating moods frequently render it 
impossible for the speaker to fully realize other emotions. 
To such an one it must be said, " Ye must be born again ! " 
All, to some extent, need such regeneration. Like all 
educational growth, it is a process, and hence requires dis- 
cipline under intelligent direction. Elocution treated on 
this basis is of the highest value as a means of culture. 
In spite, however, of the rational and practical method 
of treatment, the teacher frequently appears to invade the 
personality of the speaker ; hence, in drill, it will require 
care on the part of the teacher, and patience on the part 
of the student. 



PART I 

PRINCIPLES OF PUBLIC SPEAKING 



BOOK I 

ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER I 

CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE 

While listening to speakers for the purpose of determin- 
ing their respective effectiveness, judges find it necessary to 
consider the delivery with reference to at least three things, 
— intelligibility, or ease, with which the speaker makes 
himself understood ; the ability of the speakei to interest 
and move the listener ; and the ease and gracefulness of 
the delivery, especially with reference to the bearing and 
gesture. Although not always so clearly analyzed by every 
one, these are the qualities that make speaking effective 
to all listeners. 

These three groups of properties, under the names of 
Clearness, Force, and Elegance, are regarded by teachers of 
rhetoric as the essential properties of style ; and in keep- 
ing with the rhetorical spirit, these terms are used to repre- 
sent the essential properties of delivery. 

Clearness. — One of the principal aims of public speak- 
ing is to give information. This aim addresses the under- 
standing and satisfies the demand of the intellect. The 
group of properties by means of which information is com- 
municated is called " clearness." Professor Bain describes 
it as " opposed to obscurity, vagueness, ambiguity, or ill— 

27 



28 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

defined boundaries." * Prof. A. S. Hill says, " It is not 
enough to use language that may be understood, he [a 
writer or speaker] should use language that must be under- 
stood," and quotes Quintilian and Emerson to the same 
effect 2 

In Public Speaking, clearness means more than the 
choice of words and sentences for this purpose. The 
clearest style of a Newman may be rendered obscure in 
the delivery. 

By the use of proper enunciation, varied pitch, pause, em- 
phasis, and other elements of speech, the speaker must ren- 
der the thought so clear to the ear that the listener cannot 
fail to understand at once the purposed idea. 

If, for purposes of information, a speaker aims only at the 
bare statement of facts, as in rendering judicial opinions, in 
the technical treatment of scientific subjects, and in reading 
news items, the speaking, if it is clear, answers every de- 
mand. 3 It is seldom, however, that a speech is limited to 
this single purpose. 

Force. — The second of the leading aims of speaking, 
and especially of oratory, is persuasion. Persuasion affects 
the will principally through the emotions. The group of 
qualities, by means of which the emotions are stirred and 
the will affected, is variously called " vivacity," " energy," 
" strength," " force." The term " force," as we have seen, 
is now more generally used. 

While the tendency is toward a factive simplicity in Public 
Speaking, and especially toward a suppression of excessive 
emotion and sentimental adornment, so long as man is 
capable of poetry, and is susceptible of aesthetic influences, 
a speech must have certain emotional qualities. Conditions 
may modify the emotions, but can never obliterate them. 

1 English Composition and Rhetoric. Bain, p. 48. 

2 Principles of Rhetoric, by A. S. Hill, p. 65. 

3 A. S. Hill's Rhetoric, p. 84. 



CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE 29 

Force satisfies this demand of the emotions ; and while 
the listener does not consciously attend to the emotional 
states nor seek to promote them as he does an understand- 
ing of the speech, yet if a speaker lacks force, he is, in 
popular language, called "dull," " dry," " lifeless," " inex- 
pressive," " without force" 

But declamation and noise should not be mistaken for 
Force. A blind struggle for this property leads to just this 
mistake. The softest tone, the gentlest whisper, may be 
more forceful than the strongest declamation. 

Silence is often forceful. A natural manner, a vivacious, 
but subdued and dignified delivery, is the most impressive 
delivery, and is Forceful in the sense used in this book. 

By means of Force in the Delivery, the speaker first of 
all holds the attention of the audience ; the listener "awakes 
the senses," is alert and anticipative. Beyond this, other emo- 
tions, indeed, the whole range of emotions, may be affected. 

Elegance. — Public speaking, in the next place, aims to 
please. To give pleasure is a motive leading in poetry, 
prominent in the essay, and not neglected in oratory; for 
speech can persuade only as it pleases. 

The group of qualities that renders the discourse agreea- 
ble, and that gives the charm of language that pleases, is, 
as we have already said, called by the rhetoricians, " ele- 
gance." It corresponds to the feelings, and satisfies the 
demand of the aesthetic nature. 

Besides the usual rhetorical elements that appeal to taste 
and imagination, and upon which the pleasing quality of the 
speech is primarily based, elegance in delivery demands also 
an agreeable voice, strong, easy bearing, graceful gesture, 
harmony of function, and correct pronunciation. 

A Working Scheme. 

In practice, the student still finds it difficult to hold before 
the subconscious attention the leading processes involved 



30 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

in good speaking. He frequently says, " I lost sight of thu 
while attending to the other." " I find it difficult to attend 
to so many things." Hence some scheme of summarizing 
the various sources and elements, especially for beginners, 
is important. 

Clearness, Force, and Elegance, besides adequately sum- 
marizing the properties of public address, also serve as a 
scheme to carry into practice the various elements to which 
effective speaking must conform. The student should ac- 
custom himself to associate under these heads the group of 
qualities belonging to each, so that they at once schematize 
the complex functions, and suggest all that is to be done. 

Especially should the five sources of effective delivery 
be continually held before the student. JThis positive treat- 
ment may be alternated with criticism of special faults. 
Criticism should be both general and specific. This will 
involve the elements as well as the sources. The student 
and the speaker soon become accustomed to these cate- 
gories. The value of a teacher is in proportion to his 
ability to diagnose the student's needs and to prescribe a 
remedy. 

The student should thoroughly commit each item of the 
scheme. Its value will be fully appreciated only after a thor- 
ough study of the whole treatise and after much practice. 

The attempt, however, to make the speaking forceful by 
thinking too exclusively of force, results in what is opprobri- 
ously called " dramatic," " stagy," " bombastic " delivery; 
while the attempt to secure elegance by thinking too ex- 
clusively of this property results in affectation. These 
faults are seen in a great many professional and amateur 
" readers." 

It is otherwise with regard to Clearness. If the speaker 
give the appearance of consciously attending to this qual- 
ity, it does not so seriously detract from the effort. If the 
audience find it difficult to understand the thought, then a 



CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE 3 1 

statement, description, or illustration from a different point 
of view is welcomed ; and if the voice is not clearly audible, 
it seems to be allowable in deliberative assemblies to de- 
mand that the speaker " speak louder." 

THE SCHEME. 



A. Sources of Clearness, 
Force, and Elegance. 



B. Elements of Clearness, 
Force, and Elegance. 



I. Physical Vitality and Ear- ^ ( 
nestjiess. 



II. Control a7td Reserved Force. 



III. The A ndience (Attention of 
— Communication); and 
Good-will (Sympathy). 



IV. Mental Content \ — Thought 
and Feeling (Attention). 



V. Variety in Unity ', — Differ- 
entiation. 



in. 



Of 


Clearness. 


1. 


Enunciation (Syllables, 




Vowels, Consonants). 


2. 


Emphasis. 


-3- 


Phrasing or grouping. 


4- 


Transition. 


Of Force. 


1. 


Strong, pure, flexible tones. 


2. 


Appropriate voice. 


3- 


Inflection (Slides). 


4- 


Melody of speech. 


5- 


Rhythm. 


6. 


Loudness. 


7- 


Stress. 


8. 


Rate. 


9- 


Climax. 


10. 


Imitative modulation. 


11. 


Gesture. 


Of Elegance. 


1. 


Harmony of parts. 


2. 


Pronunciation. 



The main dependence, however, in each essential,, is in 
clearly conceiving the thought, and in fully realizing the 
emotions of the subject. 

The student who hopes to make elocution compensate for 
brains, and his thought to pass for more than its intrinsic 



32 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

worth, and who hopes to substitute a good voice and grace- 
ful gesture — the externals of speech — for real thought and 
heartfelt emotion, will be disappointed, as he ought to be. 

" With the art of all men . . . that of language, the chief 
vices of education have arisen from the one great fallacy 
of supposing that noble language is a communicable trick of 
grammar and accent, instead of simply the careful expres- 
sion of right thought. All the virtues of language are, in 
their roots, moral ; it becomes accurate if the speaker de- 
sires to be true ; clear, if he speaks with sympathy and a 
desire to be intelligible ; powerful, if he has earnestness ; 
pleasant, if he has sense of rhythm and order. 

" There are no other virtues of language producible by 
art than these ; but let me mark more deeply for an instant 
the significance of one of them. Language, I said, is only 
clear when it is sympathetic. You can, in truth, under- 
stand a man's word only by understanding his temper. 
Your own word is also as of an unknown tongue to him 
unless he understands yours. And it is this which makes 
the art of language, if any one is to be chosen separately 
from the rest, that which is fittest for the instrument of a 
gentleman's education. 

" To teach the meaning of a word thoroughly, is to teach 
the nature of the spirit that coined it ; the secret of lan- 
guage is the secret of sympathy, and its full charm is possi- 
ble only to the gentle. And thus the principles of beautiful 
speech have all been fixed by sincere and kindly speech. 

" On the laws which have been determined by sincerity, 
false speech, apparently beautiful, may afterward be con- 
structed ; but all such utterance, whether in oration or 
poetry, is not only without permanent power, but it is 
destructive of the principles it has usurped. So long as no 
words are uttered but in faithfulness, so long the art of lan- 
guage goes on exalting itself ; but the moment it is shaped 
and chiselled on external principles, it falls into frivolity 



CLEARNESS, FORCE, AND ELEGANCE 33 

and perishes. . . . Xo noble nor right style was ever yet 
founded but out of a sincere heart. 

•• Xo man is worth reading to form your style who does 
not mean what he says ; nor was any great style ever 
invented but by some man who meant what he said. . . . 

" And of yet greater importance is it deeply to know that 
every beauty possessed by the language of a nation is sig- 
nificant of the innermost laws of its being. Keep the tem- 
per of the people stern and manly ; make their associations 
grave, courteous, and for worthy objects ; occupy them in 
just deeds, — and their tongue must needs be a grand one. 
Nor is it possible, therefore, . . . that any tongue should be 
a noble one, of which the words are not so many trumpet 
calls to action. All great languages invariably utter great 
things and command them ; they cannot be mimicked but 
by obedience ; the breath of them is inspiration, because it 
is not only vocal but vital; and you can only learn to speak 
as these men spoke by becoming what these men were.*' x 

The principles of Delivery will be further treated, (i) as 
the Sources, and (2) as the Elements, of Clearness. Force, 
and Elegance — the essentials of Public Speaking. So far 
as I know, Professor Mc II vain, in his excellent book on 
"Elocution," was the first to apply the terms "sources and 
elements " to these two aspects of Public Speaking. The 
former deals more with the fundamental powers of mind and 
body, the latter more with the manifestive forms of Delivery; 
the former are more subjective, the latter, more objective. 

1 Ruskin. Relation of Art to Morals, in Crown of Wild Olives. 



BOOK II 

SOURCES OF THE ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER I 

MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 

It was stated in the Introduction that the main problem 
in the art of Public Speaking is to induce right mental 
action, and that the first part of this problem is to achieve 
the purposed thought and emotion, — the mental content of 
the language. To this first part of the problem this chapter 
is devoted. 

Any notion that agreeable sounds and graceful gestures 
are in themselves effective in Public Speaking is to entirely 
misconceive the function of language and the purpose of 
speaking. Yet such misconceptions are frequent. The sub- 
ject of delivery should be approached with the distinct 
understanding that there is no substitute for thought and 
feeling. Nor can superficial attainments be polished suffi- 
ciently to compete with thorough culture. Indeed, to the 
serious and patient student, nothing is so self-revelatory of 
one's mental and linguistic poverty as a thorough consider- 
ation and application of the principles of Public Speaking. 
The student has not done well unless the subject has been 
suggestive, not only in the particulars specifically treated, 
but also in all that constitutes man. 

Something more, however, than a general suggestion to 
deal with the thought of the speech is needed to arouse 
mental activity and accuracy. It seems to me that, as a 

34 



MENTAL CONTEXT OF LANGUAGE 35 

discipline, nothing can surpass the conscious attention to 
the processes that unconsciously take place, more or less 
effectively, in all thinking and speaking. This, an original 
contribution to elocutionary study, is the method of this 
chapter. 

Words have no absolute meaning. In speaking, they may 
be used as so much breath or sound, without any relation 
to the mental content. Obviously, a speaker may learn to 
pronounce any language, and utter pages, say of Greek or 
Latin, without getting or giving a single idea. This is also 
true of the use of words of unknown meaning in the mother- 
tongue. Suppose I ask the average person to speak the 
following sentence, composed of words taken from our 
familiar English Bible : k * 27i e abjects pill the chapman of 
collops, fitches, habergons and brigandines" The words may 
be correctly pronounced without the speaker having any 
idea of the content of the language. This is true, not only 
in the use of words of unknown meaning, but is also pos- 
sible in the use of language commonly intelligible. Through 
inattention, or other cause, the mind reacts upon the words 
only as signs of sounds, and not as symbols of ideas. This 
use of words without content is common, too, in speech 
disorder, known as aphasia. 

More common instances in which the student of speaking 
is interested are the cases of poorly instructed children 
learning to read. The word, to the struggling child, is the 
sign of a sound, and so he reads the sentence, " I see the 
horse on the hill," in that characteristic high-pitched, mo- 
notonous, over-loud, and empty voice. Mark the contrast 
as he, without book, in a flexible, life-like voice, expresses 
spontaneously the idea out of his own mind. 

A similar use of words, as sound, is heard in most manu- 
script delivery. The writer deals with subject as ideas when 
in the act of writing, but in delivery reads the manuscript as 
a matter of words, without rethinking or feeling again the 
ideas of the language. 



36 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

The mental processes involved in writing differ from those 
involved in speaking. Some persons are able to think only 
at the end of the pen, while others can adequately express 
their ideas only in oral delivery. There are marked in- 
stances of each of these classes. The difference is attribut- 
able to natural aptitude and to previous training. Hence 
the necessity of oral practice by those who speak from man- 
uscript. The time devoted to writing should be balanced 
by equal time given to preparation by practice in oral de- 
livery. 

Usually, too, delivery from the printed page is without 
the legitimate and full content of the language. In short, 
inattention, lack of concentration, failure to appreciate the 
sentiments when using another's composition, or the case of 
giving leading attention to the means of expression (the sub- 
ordinate processes), always results in the insufficient mental 
content. 

Of course, the matter of content is a relative one. It 
ranges from the zero of pronouncing in an unknown tongue, 
to the content of an ideally perfect knower and revealer. 
Consequently, the statement in any given case, that the de- 
livery is without content, must be in this relative sense. The 
content, moreover, from the nature of mind, must vary in 
each repetition of a discourse. But the clearness, force, and 
elegance of the speaking is always in proportion to the clear- 
ness and fulness of the mental content. 

When criticised, the student sometimes objects, "Why, I 
am sure I understood what I delivered/ ' But as Hume 
says, " Thought is quick;" and one must distinguish between 
thinking the thought and feeling the emotions at the instant 
of delivery, and the recollection of the ideas, as an act of 
memory, a moment later. In the latter case, the words are 
carried in memory, and the ideas subsequently read into 
them. Again, the ideational process is frequently retro- 
spective, and thinking, in point of time, is behind the voice. 



MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 37 

The voice is distinctly in advance of the thought. This 
phenomenon is a matter of common observation. Besides, 
the matter, as we have said, is relative, and the speaker may 
achieve the topic and some of the leading ideas without 
dealing with the full content. 

The student must also distinguish between dealing with 
language for the purpose of getting the idea, and of the use 
of it for communication. The speaker may spend practi- 
cally all of his effort in acquiring the thought, and still keep 
on vocalizing. He must communicate as well as acquire. 

This fault of mere word-utterance is not unknown in what 
is usually called extemporaneous delivery, though it is less 
common. Verbal fluency, wordiness, is the form in which 
the fault is recognized in this kind of delivery. But the 
vigor, the directness, the spontaneity, and naturalness, char- 
acteristic of extemporaneous speaking, are due mainly to the 
fact that in this kind of delivery the speaker deals primarily 
with ideas and only secondarily with words. How, then, 
can this ability to deal primarily with ideas be cultivated ? 
This whole treatise is mainly an answer to this question. 
The direct way of dealing with the problem is the method of 
the remainder of this chapter. 

Sec. I. Attention. — The first condition necessary to 
the achievement of Content is an effective functioning of 
attention. This is sometimes called " concentration of at- 
tention." 

Confusion of utterance, as in fright, uneasiness of mind, 
anger, etc., arises, not as some suppose, from having noth- 
ing to say, but from having too many ideas flitting through 
the mind. So also in speaking, from one cause or another, 
excess of ideas insufficiently focused in the attention hin- 
ders the achievement of the proposed content. 

While the speaker goes on uttering the " words, words, 
words " of his discourse, " wandering thoughts " straggle 
into the consciousness, and, indeed, at times side trains of 



38 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

thought, foreign to the purpose of the speech, preoccupy 
the mind. Ideas contained in the speech, ideas about its 
success, about the audience, reputation, and many other 
things, capriciously present themselves. 

Now, in voluntary attention, sometimes called forced atten- 
tion, we choose to attend to certain objects and ideas to the 
exclusion of others. It is a matter of accepted psychology 
and of common experience, that ideas are brought by atten- 
tion from the obscurer into the more distinct fields of con- 
sciousness. Attention, moreover, involves not only selection, 
but the adjustment of ideas in a certain order of sequence 
in order to fulfil the purpose of the mind. The activity of 
the mind may become more and more efficient. Larger and 
still larger content may be apprehended ; and while con- 
sciousness may be narrowed down and rendered more defi- 
nite and precise, at the same time a larger number of details 
are projected into this unity. Effective speaking depends 
upon rapid analysis, and this in turn depends upon the 
power of voluntary attention. 

Attention is controlled, first of all, by interest. We be- 
come absorbed only in that which interests us. Again, 
attention is controlled by inhibition. Inhibition is an ac- 
tivity of mind that enters into the very nature of attention. 
We promote attention to the purposed ideas by voluntarily 
inhibiting ideas to which we do not wish to attend. The 
practical value of cultivating the attention is obvious. 

A suggestion about another aspect of attention will be 
given under the chapter on " Audience." W r e shall now 
proceed to discuss analysis. 

Sec. II. Analysis. — Sustained practice in logical an- 
alysis, and its application to the act of speaking, is of prime 
importance. Attention is involved in a most thorough-going 
way. The thought process is one of comparison. Only that 
which has connection with other elements has meaning. An 
idea to be significant must point to something beyond itself. 



MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 39 

That which is isolated and separated is not capable of being 
thought. The process involves (i) identification or recogni- 
tion, (2) discrimination or differentiation, (3) construction. 

The main thing it is hoped to accomplish in this some- 
what meagre account of the process of thinking is to im- 
press upon the mind of the student, first, the fact of the 
connection of ideas in the sentence, and secondly, the diffc7'- 
entiation of parts as determined by the thought process. In 
teaching, no suggestion is oftener needed than to " discrim- 
inate ! discriminate ! " 

Analysis may be conducted independent of speaking, and 
form no connection with it. In this case it is wholly sub- 
jective, and consequently the utterance must be feeble. 
Persons accustomed to write their thought analyze best by 
writing. This fact accounts for the ability of some persons 
to think best with pen in hand, and the inability of some 
good writers to speak. It is the first business of the stu- 
dent of speaking to train himself to relate the analysis to 
the delivery. Impose the thinking on the speaking. Think- 
ing through the voice is a characteristic of spontaneous 
or conversational delivery. Finally, speak the thought. 
Thought grows in the act of speaking. 

1. First, grasp the purpose or mea?iing of the address, selec- 
tion, or speech as a whole. The editorial title is a convenient 
name for identifying the selection or address, but it is not 
to be relied upon for purposes of the analysis. The pur- 
pose of the address gives you the theme or subject. Unite 
the various ideas of the address, if possible, under a single 
proposition in the categorical or declaratory form. For 
instance, the funeral oration of Mark Antony, in " Julius 
Caesar," might be put in this form as follows : " Brutus and 
his associates are cruel assassins." This proposition held 
fairly in mind inspires and unifies the speech, and illumi- 
nates its plan. To conceal the subject to the close, and 
sometimes to suppress its plain statement altogether, is 



40 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

a method frequently employed in orations. The treatment 
given the speech as a whole should be applied to each 
division or paragraph of the address. 

2. Analyze the sentence to determine its logical relations. 

(i) Every sentence consists of two principal elements. 
The first element is that of which something is stated ; the 
second is that which is stated of the something. The first 
is the subject ; the second is the predicate. 

The student should clearly distinguish the subject from 
the predicate, and group with each its respective modifiers. 

(2) Reduce to the proper place parenthetical and other 
subordinate matter. 

(3) To state anything of a subject involves an act of 
judgment. This is the essential function of the proposition, 
and is the typical act of thinking. The judgment is the unit 
of thought ; hence the value of analyzing the matter of dis- 
course for the judgments. The method is illustrated in the 
treatment of the following paragraph from Macaulay's esti- 
mate of the character of Charles the First : — 

" The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other 
malefactors against whom overwhelming evidence is pro- 
duced, generally decline all controversy about the facts, 
and content themselves with calling testimony to character. 
He had so many private virtues ! And had James the Sec- 
ond no private virtues ? " 

The judgments are : Charles's advocates are like advo- 
cates of malefactors against-whom-overwhelming-evidence 
is produced. Advocates of malefactors decline all fact- 
controversy. Advocates of malefactors content themselves- 
with-calling-testimony to character. The next sentence in 
the paragraph is exclamatory ; but it has the force of a 
declaration. Charles had many private virtues. Con- 
demned James the Second had private virtues. So, also, all 
the statements expressed and inferred in this and other 
selections may be put in the form of judgments. 



MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 41 

3. Dwell on the meaning of each word* Every clear 
speaker defines the meaning of his words in order to 
determine their significance. 

In the case of nouns, take more than the simple definition 
of the dictionary. Let it include some of what the logicians 
call the attributes or qualities. I am sure rather smart 
people will frequently find how imperfect is their knowledge 
of words. Giving the qualities of the word reveals, more- 
over, the animus of its use. Attend only to those attri- 
butes in which the speaker is interested. Take that of 
" advocates,'* for instance, in the paragraph already used. 
Advocates are men ; advocates are men with special quali- 
fications ; advocates are men engaged to defend their 
clients ; advocates are men prejudiced in favor of their 
clients ; advocates are dependent and partial men. Other 
attributes may be added. Treat in a similar way " male- 
factors " and other words. 

4. Analyze the sentence to determine the new idea. We have 
seen that, to be significant, the idea must point to some- 
thing beyond itself. This fact is utilized in attending to 
the relations of one sentence to another. In delivering 
a succession of sentences, since the old idea has a hold 
already upon the thought, the new idea should be made 
most easily apprehensible by giving it greater prominence. 
Hence, the old as related to the new must be clearly thought. 
In the second sentence of the previous quotation, the pro- 
noun He [Charles] is the old idea, for it is contained 
in the preceding sentence. It relates the new idea of the 
second sentence to the old idea of the preceding sentence. 
"Private virtues" is this new idea of the second sentence. 
In the third sentence, " And had James the Second no private 
virtues ? " virtues [the old idea] is the term relating the 
third to the second sentence. James the Second is the new 
idea. So each sentence of the composition has something 
new, but at the same time something old, that points to 



42 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

other sentences. In this manner the sentences of well- 
constructed discourses form a chain. To determine the 
new idea is of prime importance, and well worth the stu- 
dent's most careful and prolonged attention. It contributes 
equally to clearness and force. Upon it correct emphasis 
and all movement depend. 

5. Analyze the speech in order to supply the ellipses. All 
language is more or less elliptical ; that is, it omits words 
necessary to a full and complete expression of the ideas. 
In good composition only obvious ideas are omitted ; these 
are suggested by the form of the language, including punc- 
tuation, by the context, and by logical relation of the parts 
expressed. Ellipses are sometimes -of a logical, and at other 
times of a grammatical nature ; but whether of one or 
the other, elliptical expression economizes effort. It is 
the shorthand, the direct method of speech. The unex- 
pressed ideas, that is, the ideas between the lines, are fre- 
quently the most important in connection with the emo- 
tional content of the speech. The time, pause, and pitch 
element of delivery are immediately regulated by mentally 
supplying the ellipses. Treating the same selection for 
purposes of this analysis, the ellipses may be supplied in 
brackets. "The advocates of Charles [the First are, or 
being] like the advocates of other malefactors, against 
whom overwhelming evidence is produced, generally decline 
all controversy about the facts, and [although obviously 
unfair, they complacently] content themselves with calling 
testimony to character. [They say that] He had so many 
private virtues ! [Marvellous, indeed ! ] And had James 
the Second [whom you condemn] no private virtues ? [You 
answer, yes.] Was Oliver Cromwell [whom you execrate], 
his bitterest enemies themselves [and not impartial men] 
being judges, destitute of private virtues ? [You answer, 
no.]" The second paragraph is richer still in ellipses. 
Observe, that, in delivery, pauses occupy the place of the 
ellipses or omitted words: 



MENTAL CONTEXT OF LANGUAGE 43 

6. Fill out the co?itent through the imagination. Through 
the imagination we realize and make specific the idea. 
Charles the First is individualized, possibly pictured to the 
mind. " Advocates " is no longer a general term, but a 
specific and localized set of men, possibly individualized. 

In the process, imagination uses the visual and aural 
memory; that is, the memory of things as we have seen 
them and sounds as we have heard them. At times the 
memory of other sense-perceptions also is used. Fre- 
quently there is very little constructive activity of the im- 
agination, and the mind simply reproduces the sight, sound, 
or other sense-perception through memory. At other times 
the mind acts more constructively; this is properly called 
imagination. Delivery that is graphic, that brings the 
events before the mind of the listener in clear and specific 
form, makes splendid use of the imagination or the percep- 
tive memory. For this purpose take the following stanzas 
from Longfellow's " Paul Revere's Ride " : — 

" He said to his friend, ' If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — - 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 
And I on the opposite shore will be, 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to arm.' " 

Picture the two men standing in the street in secret coun- 
sel. See the lofty tower; see the signal light — one, two; 
see the opposite shore ; the rider upon his horse ; see the 
Middlesex villages and farms wrapped in midnight slumbers ; 
again, see them stirring with life. The scene becomes defi- 
nite and vivid, first to speaker, then to listener. 

When these objects are reproduced in the mind, motor 
reactions result, and the eye and arms act in gesture just 



44 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

as though the real objects were before the mind. By this 
means the story is illustrated, and thus made real to the eye 
of the auditor. 

In a similar way reproduce the sounds imaginatively. 

" Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack-door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers 
Marching down to their boats on the shore." 

The speaker imaginatively hearing these sounds realizes 
more fully the idea, and through his voice and gestures, the 
mind of the listener becomes similarly affected. 

The objects of the imagination are to be regarded as a 
series of illustrations, and not as a bird's-eye view of things ; 
hence the same object may be made to appear in different 
directions at different times. The speaker should control 
the location, and place the object where it can best be used. 

7. Analyze the language in order to call up the associated 
ideas. It is a matter of common knowledge that according 
to certain laws of the mind, whenever certain ideas present 
themselves in consciousness, certain others are suggested. 
The principal associations are as follows : (1) Contiguity. 
Ideas that occur close together in time or space suggest one 
another; (2) ideas of similarity and contrast ; and (3) ideas 
of cause and effect. 

In the stanza last quoted, " silence " suggests " hears " 
[the muster] ; " muster," " men ; " " men," " barrack ; " " bar- 
rack," "door." "Hears" further suggests "sounds" [of 
arms], "tramp" [of feet], "measured tread;" "tread," 
"grenadiers," etc. 

The ability to look from the printed page or manuscript, 
an ability seldom well mastered, is due, not simply to a 
sharpening of the eye gained by practice, but also to the 
confidence with which the mind utilizes the associational 



MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 45 

process. One word suggesting another, the eye more 
readily seizes it. The process applies also to clauses and 
phrases. 

By means of association the mind successively antici- 
pates the words and phrases of the discourse, and so keeps 
the thought ahead of the voice. These associated ideas 
suggested by the leading idea, especially enrich the emo- 
tional content, and, again, help the mind to realize its 
thought. The extent and clearness of these ideas will de- 
pend upon the mental ability, discipline, knowledge, and 
experience of the individual. To the child, the sentence, 
" The discovery of microbes is an important event in sci- 
ence," means little or nothing. To the scientist it suggests, 
possibly, a range of ideas from the creation down to the last 
surgical operation in which he was interested. Such words 
as "flag," " home," " mother," are especially rich in associa- 
tion. 

The ideas associated with those of the previously quoted 
stanza may be those of patriotism, self-sacrifice, heroism. 
They suggest the mutual confidence, personal daring, the 
good sense, the secrecy and caution of the two men, and a 
whole train of other ideas that grow out of the time, place, 
and other relations. 

A study of the times and circumstances out of which a 
speech grows, meditations upon kindred themes, indeed, any 
broad study of related matter, puts the student in the spirit 
or " atmosphere " of the speech, and aids him in a more 
comprehensive and accurate understanding of it. This 
fuller use of the associational process employed by success- 
ful speakers is of obvious value. Such methods make the 
"full man," out of which the best speaking comes. 

8. Analyze the speech to find its emotion. The content may 
be further filled out by developing the emotions. Attend- 
ing to the things of the imagination and to the associated 
ideas, aids at once in realizing the emotions; but the fol- 



46 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

lowing treatment will be found still further helpful; for in 
proportion as we realize the idea, we develop its subjective 
or emotional side. 

An idea not only gives information concerning an event 
or thing, but it is also the individual's experience of that 
fact or event. Feeling is the subjective side of the idea. 
For instance, the emotion of indignation arises in connec- 
tion with the idea of an act of injustice. 

(1) It is of first importance to remember that emotions 
are the result of ideational activity. A great deal of feeble, 
extravagant, and insincere elocution is the result of an at- 
tempt to express emotions that do not grow out of ideas ; or, 
which amounts to the same thing, the attempt to express 
emotions that are not felt. Yet it is just this extravagance 
that is often condemned as "emotional." Emotional de- 
livery is to be condemned only when it is excessive, hol- 
low., or "theatric." The most chaste and simple delivery 
is emotional as truly as is bombast. The orator's power 
is primarily an emotional one; there can be no effective 
speaking without it. It is only a question as to what emo- 
tions shall be expressed, and the avoidance of the falsities 
and excesses already indicated. 

(2) Again, emotions grow. They gradually develop, 
reach their height, and then subside. Even when the same 
idea that gives rise to an emotion continues, the emotion 
periodically grows and then subsides again. Grief is an 
instance of this. Feelings or sense impressions, on the 
other hand, are instantaneous, even when reproduced in 
the imagination. The emotion of anger, for example, de- 
velops through the ideas that give rise to it; while the 
startling effect of an unexpected sound or sight, real or 
imaginary, is instantaneous. The practical outcome of 
this demands that the speaker hold the idea till the emotions 
are made real, and that reproduced sensations be real and vivid 
by concentrated attentio?i. 



MENTAL CONTEXT OF LANGUAGE 



47 



No thoroughly satisfactory classification of the emotions 
has yet been made. Possibly Wundt's classification into 
(i) Excitant and (2) Inhibitory, corresponding to what 
Professor Bain calls affection of the active or plus side, 
and the passive or minus side of the mental states, is as 
serviceable as any. 

It will not do to insist too rigorously upon all emotions 
coming under this classification, nor is the list to be re- 
garded as exhaustive. 

Among the following words, those coming after " Arro- 
gance " and " Anxiety " are not found in Wundt's list. 



I. Excitant or Active. 
Pleasurable Surprise, 

Anger, 

Jollity, 

Frolicsomeness, 

Rapture, 

Courage, 

Rage, 

Vexation, 

Admiration, 

Enthusiasm, 

Ecstasy, 

Beauty, 

Love, 

Ai'roga nee, 

Ridicule, 

Esteem, 

Pity, 

Tenderness, 

Reproach, 

Pride, 

Defiance, 

Surprise (objective). 

Class I. quickens the ideation, the action of the heart, 
mimetic and pantomimic movements. The result of Class 



II. Inhibitory or Passivi 
Painful surprise, 
Perplexity, 
Sorrow, 
Sadness, 
Apprehension, 
Depression, 
Timidity, 
Shame, 
Anguish, 
Terror, 
Horror, 
Repugnance, 
Despair, 
Sublimity, 
Hatred, 
Anxiety, 
Reverence, 
Submission, 
Wonder, 
Humility. 



48 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

II. is the reverse. Consequently the effect of Class I. on 
the voice is to increase the rate, heighten the pitch, and 
brighten the tone ; while the effect of Class II. is to slow 
down the rate, lower the pitch, and dull the tone. 

The mind is usually occupied with a complex of emo- 
tions. This fact must be kept in mind in any attempt to 
describe the emotional condition arising from any set of 
ideas. Moods are more lasting emotional states. Emotion 
heightened by urgent desires is called passion. 

A summary of hints may be given as follows : — 

(1) Determine the prevailing emotion, sometimes called 
the " spirit," the " atmosphere " of the speech; that is, 
whether it is joyous, patriotic, or dominated by some other 
emotion. 

(2) Note each separate emotion, naming it fear, per- 
plexity, or otherwise as the case may be. 

(3) Observe that the emotions are often complex. 

(4) Let the emotion grow out of the idea, and wait till 
it matures. 

(5) Notice whether it is of the excitant or inhibitory 
class. 



What has in this analysis been treated in this successive 
and lengthy way takes place simultaneously and instantly. 
This fact is a temptation to the student. In practice, he will 
be tempted to use this complete process, rather than first 
analyzing the several aspects of thinking as a foundation for 
the developed and full content. The result will be the usual 
vague and undifferentiated way of dealing with the thoughts. 
In live thinking there is the variety so necessary to hold 
attention and induce alertness. But variety results only 
from thought differentiation. And this is distinctly the 
feature attended to in the foregoing treatment. Indeed, 



MENTAL CONTENT OF LANGUAGE 49 

variety is one of the objects that the speaker must keep con- 
stantly before his mind, and if the changes are to be any- 
thing but capricious they must grow out of the thought. 

If the method of analysis here recommended for the pur- 
pose of developing the attention and quickening the thought- 
activity may appear laborious, it is to be borne in mind 
that learning to speak is, at best, laborious, and requires 
much painstaking effort. 

Again, some special aspects of the process may be but 
little developed in the student. The thought may be dealt 
with too exclusively as matter of fact. In this case, analy- 
sis enables the student to pay larger attention to the emo- 
tional content. Imagination may be lacking ; in that case 
it may be emphasized in the treatment recommended. So 
the thought may be filled out, limited only by the ability 
and industry of the student. Long selections should be 
taken up and carefully analyzed according to these eight 
aspects of the thought process. Once again the suggestion 
is given to deal with this analysis from the communicative 
attitude of mind. 

It is clear that this analysis is the method applied in the 
production as well as in the reproduction of a speech ; that is, 
for the writing or the preparation as well as for the delivery. 
It is the method, consciously or otherwise, of all effective 
readers or speakers. Conscious methodical preparation, 
however, is rare. The books have not taught it. But is not 
methodical and definite work better than haphazard effort ? 

In concluding the chapter, I wish to emphasize the fact 
that the preparation of a selection or discourse is a growth, 
just as is the writing of an effective book, sermon, or oration. 
The brooding process is necessary. I recently asked a dis- 
tinguished reader how long it took him to prepare an hour's 
reading. He answered, " -A year!" Perfect fruit requires 
time in ripening. The student of speaking must have the 
patience to repeat and wait. 



50 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER II 

EARNESTNESS 

The picture of a slow, timid speaker giving the impression 
that he really does not feel what he says, or that he is too 
indolent, or physically too feeble to enforce his ideas, shows 
by contrast the importance of earnestness in Public Speak- 
ing. From such a speaker the hearer turns listlessly away. 
The listener demands such an alertness and energy in the 
delivery, such a quickening of all the agents of expres- 
sion, as is indicative of vigorous mental and emotional 
activity. A logical appreciation of the idea is insufficient. 
The speaker must realize the idea emotionally. The lis- 
tener demands also that the speaker mean what he says, 
that he be morally in earnest, and speak out of conviction. 
How fatal to have it said, " He is speaking for effect;" or to 
charge that his utterance is that of a mere partisan ! It is 
still worse to say that his is the voice of a hireling. The 
true speaker comes " that they might have life." I suppose 
it is this that has led writers upon oratory, from the time of 
Quintilian to the present, to insist that oratory is essentially 
moral, and that " only the good man can be a perfect 
orator." 

Oratory involves the processes of convincing and persuad- 
ing. But how can the speaker convince another w T hen he is 
not himself stirred by conviction ? or how can he persuade in 
that to which he gives only half-hearted allegiance ? 

By earnestness, then, something more is meant than ener- 
getic vocalization and forceful gesture. Earnestness is sin- 
cerity all aglow. Its roots are moral. A speech is a kind of 
personality. Certainly it is expressive of personality ; hence 



EARNESTNESS SI 

the necessity of right motive and legitimate method. This 
is the earnestness described by Webster as " The clear con- 
ception outrunning the deductions of logic, the high pur- 
pose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the 
tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and 
urging the whole man onward, right onward to his subject." 

To give direction how to secure this compelling earnest- 
ness belongs to the teacher of ethics and of religion. One 
or two aspects of the subject may be profitably considered. 

i. The speaker must be thoroughly in liking with the 
work of his profession or calling. The feeling of inadapta- 
bility is fatal to success. A genuine interest is indispensa- 
ble. Who would prefer the statesman, the lawyer, or the 
preacher whose heart is not in his work ? The advocate 
may feel in earnest in behalf of his client because his repu- 
tation is at stake, the politician may be spurred by the de- 
sire for advancement, and the preacher show an earnestness 
because his success and fame are being weighed in the bal- 
ance ; but the fire of their earnestness is uncertain and 
feeble beside that which grows out of a peculiar liking and 
adaptability to the work of the chosen profession. He who 
would promote the social, political, and religious interests of 
the world by means of speaking must be thoroughly imbued 
with these interests. 

2. Again, the speaker must have, not only this general 
interest in the work, but must feel the importance of the 
special subject and occasion. The purpose of the speech 
must be clearly defined and fully indorsed. In order to do 
this it will frequently be found desirable and even necessary 
to link the special occasion to some larger interest. The 
case of petty larceny must be discouraging to the advocate 
except as he relates the case to justice. If the preacher is 
to show a real interest in speaking to the small audience 
and to degraded men, he frequently must realize the impor- 
tance of the individual, and think of what they are capable 
of becoming. 



52 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

3. All who are disciplining themselves in speaking should 
guard against the tendency to trust too much to the in- 
spiration of the audience. The influence of the audience 
in stimulating mental and physical earnestness cannot be 
denied ; but it does not wholly compensate for the lack of 
stimulus that should come from the subject. 

4. In practising for skill, the student frequently finds him- 
self unable to enter into the spirit of the subject composed 
by another. Indeed, he frequently finds himself incapable 
of delivering with effective earnestness his own composition 
before a teacher or to a class. He compares this with the 
greater sense of freedom and efficiency in addressing a real 
audience for other than disciplinary purposes. But this 
sense of freedom, or having a " good time," frequently ac- 
companies extravagances, and generally means simply let- 
ting bad habits have free course. It is always easy to 
speak according to habit, whether the habit be good or bad. 
It is the observation of the author and of others, that the 
faults that show themselves in the class-room are the ones 
that are prominent in delivery elsewhere. That the student 
should feel his restraint under drill is not surprising. Un- 
der such circumstances, the voice and gesture are likely 
to occupy a large part of the field of consciousness ; the 
speaker is self conscious, and in some cases the sense of the 
incongruous is overmastering. A thorough control, how- 
ever, overcomes the difficulties of the situation, and enables 
the speaker to use the thoughts of others with spontaneous 
earnestness. 

As to the incongruous, it, in fact, does not exist. Just as 
the w r riter composes for an imaginary audience, so the sol- 
itary speaker addresses an imaginary audience ; but there 
is nothing incongruous in either case. The class or the 
teacher may be regarded as the audience ; or in their pres- 
ence the speaker may still have an imaginary audience 
beyond them. 



EARNESTNESS. 



S3 



According to the author's observation, a person with the 
gift of speaking, or who has long disciplined himself in 
delivery, is little disturbed by the drill-room atmosphere. 

The ability to enter heartily into the delivery of another's 
speech depends on dramatic power. This power is always a 
valuable source of earnestness. Proper discipline calls up 
the latent dramatic faculty, and enables the student to throw 
himself heartily into the delivery of another's composition. 
It does not postpone earnestness for the audience and the 
live occasion ; that which is written by another becomes the 
speaker's own. Every room is imaginatively peopled, and 
every occasion is made a live one. 



54 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER III 

PHYSICAL VITALITY 

The importance of physical vitality as a source of the 
essentials of Public Speaking, is seen, first of all, from the 
nature of the subject. Speaking is a physical as well as a 
mental act. Strong and erect carriage and free movements, 
the ability to endure the strains of thoroughly alive speak- 
ing, are possible in the most effective degree only in con- 
nection with large vitality. Proper breathing and vocal 
control are secured through the same source ; so also is 
life and the feeling of power. Proper nerve-functioning, so 
essential to successful speaking, and other features of con- 
trol, are favorably conditioned by vitality. Reserved force, 
" grasp of the audience/' — in short, those various elements, 
the sum of which is sometimes vaguely called magnetism, 
reside largely in the same source. 

Again, it is observed that distinguished speakers, in 
general, have been men of more than ordinary vitality. 
Even size seems to have its advantage. In the estimation 
of many, Henry Ward Beecher represents the highest in 
American pulpit oratory. Dr. Bartol, in a sermon on the 
death of Mr. Beecher, said that "an examiner of his bumps 
and body pronounced him a splendid animal." No one 
can doubt that this splendid physical power made possible 
his splendid oratory. This unusual physical endowment is 
matched by that of America's greatest political orator. 
Carlyle said of Webster, "He looks like a walking cathe- 
dral." 

Every student of the subject should develop his physical 
powers to the limit of his ability. Some who enter upon a 



PHYSICAL VITALITY 55 

study of the subject would properly first go to a physician, 
and adopt such a course of life as would build them up 
physically. The physical training usually practised in con- 
nection with the subject, as now usually taught, is found 
promotive of vital development. The development of erect 
carriage and chest capacity is the result of even a minimum 
amount of work in physical training. Instruction and a 
list of exercises for physical development may be found at 
the end of this treatise. 

Every one who is to speak to an audience should so 
order his time and work as to come to the speaking fresh 
and vigorous. The feeling of physical vigor and buoyancy 
favorably affects, not only the bearing and voice, but also 
the mental action. For those who compose at the time of 
delivery, this feeling is indispensable. A few physical 
and vocal exercises preceding the speaking, is of decided 
advantage, provided one does not tire himself. Just before 
speaking the first sentence, to close the mouth and delib 
erately fill the lungs by breathing through the nostrils, 
immediately gives the speaker the sense of vigor. This, 
together with the erect attitude and " active " (lifted) chest, 
is a good preparation for the start. 



$6 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER IV 

CONTROL 

The first serious difficulty that besets almost every one 
when first addressing an audience is that of nervousness. 
It is most serious in the case of the inexperienced ; but is 
never entirely overcome by the person of oratoric tempera- 
ment. The unusual environment of the speaker, the seri- 
ousness of addressing people on important matters, the 
attitude of a person facing a silent and attentive audience 
with the assumption that it is Worth their while to listen, 
the consciousness that what is said may be challenged 
and the way of saying it criticised, may well disturb any 
one but the most stolid. 

Again, the necessarily quickened thought, the aroused 
emotions, effective earnestness, may easily run into extrava- 
gance. Sudden emotions that sweep upon the speaker, 
unexpected happenings, interruptions in debate, will be 
among the occasions for self-control. 

By control, however, something more is meant than the 
mere negative activity involved in overcoming nervousness 
or " stage-fright, " or the prevention of some unpurposed 
emotion running away with the speaker. It means the 
ability to command all the powers of mind and body in 
the complex process of oral delivery, — such a use of the 
powers of impression and expression as shall make the 
speaker skilful in the clear, forceful, and elegant presenta- 
tion of the things of the mind. Hence, not only the main 
features of speaking, but the simplest act of articulation, 
involves control. 

In general, practice and familiarity in the sphere of Pub- 



CONTROL 57 

lie Speaking is the means of cultivating control, and espe- 
cially the means of cultivating self-control. The only way 
to learn speaking is to speak. But a knowledge of the prob- 
lem and some practical suggestions will promote this aim. 

The psychology of control involves a discussion of control 
through the feelings and the will. 

i. Control through the Feelings. — Conscious guid- 
ance of the complex movements involved in the simplest 
vocal or other act would be impossible. It is accomplished 
in nature through intuition or the guidance of feeling. 

Neither sensations nor ideas come to the mind isolated 
from one another, but in larger unities or trains. When 
one of the factors is recalled, it starts up the others. This 
is true of the most minute and complex elements in any 
association, the details of which the mind may not be 
able to bring into consciousness. The slightest initiation 
through memory is sufficient to set off the whole train. 

Every change in the ordinary movements, and also in 
vocal and gesticular action, is accompanied by a feeling 
peculiar to itself. This sensation becomes a sign or sym- 
bol of the movement. The sensation at one stage of change 
becomes a guide to the sensation at the succeeding stage of 
change, according to the law of association. And so in the 
repetition of any movement, feeling guides in its accom- 
plishment. Otherwise it is purely reflex and uncontrolled. 

The motions of infants are at first extremely impulsive, 
vague, and numerous. They next become purposeful, but 
lacking in control. For instance, with the successful effort 
to locate an object there is, doubtless, a muscular sense of 
the proper adjustment in reaching for it. These recog- 
nized feelings of proper adjustment with increasing cer- 
tainty, guide to similar movements. Learning to talk is 
accomplished in a similar manner. This is obviously the 
way adults learn the pronunciation of the strange sounds of 
a new language; say English-speaking persons learning the 



58 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

German "6" or "ii," or the German learning the English 
"th." The sound is at first vague and inexact. The ad- 
justments for the utterance of the sound are at first pains- 
takingly made, with slight satisfaction as to results. Next, 
the adjustments are more promptly and accurately accom- 
plished. There is the accompanying feeling of successful 
adjustment. This feeling is at last the guide, without any 
conscious effort, for adjusting the organs for the pronuncia- 
tion of these elements. So also in all the acts of speak- 
ing, there is the feeling that the vocal organs are illy or 
well adjusted to produce the best tone, and to insure the 
most effective vocal control; the feeling that the force and 
direction of the voice are illy or well adapted to the size 
of the room and audience ; that the speech and speaker are 
fitted to the audience, or otherwise. The feeling of adjust- 
ment applies not only to these general features, but to 
each detail of vocal, gesticular, and mental movement. 
The co-ordinations must be effected, the acts made specific 
and accurate, and repeated till they organize themselves in 
the mind. Feeling is the bond of this organization. 

What is true of these features particularized is true also 
of every feature in the technique of vocal and gesticular 
movements. The student, practising till these feelings of 
specific adjustment organize themselves in the mind, can 
detect a mal-adjustment in speech as readily as he detects 
that he has put on another person's hat by the way it fits 
or feels. 

Tone. — One of the characteristics of feeling is that of 
Tone. By tone, psychologists mean that every feeling is 
either agreeable or painful. The feelings connected with 
Public Speaking are usually very marked in their tone. 
The agreeable or painful may be connected with the voice 
as it is used properly or otherwise, with the ease or diffi- 
culty of enunciation, with the freedom or hindrance of the 
co-ordinations, with the feeling of success or failure, and 



CONTROL 59 

in connection with the other aspects of the complex func- 
tions of Public Speaking. All normal speaking, adapted 
to its end, is promotive of agreeable feelings; hence, it 
appears that the tone of the feeling becomes at once a 
guide to the speaker. 

It is not to be supposed, however, that the tone of the 
feelings will unerringly guide the student into proper con- 
trol at once and without attention. If the student has been 
in the habit of flattening the chest and stooping, it is, at 
first, anything but comfortable to stand erect and with 
" active " chest. But when the erect attitude is taken, it 
soon feels right; and finally it is the only attitude that 
the tone of the feelings approves. Again, the teacher 
directs the student to the proper use of the voice or the 
proper form of gesture. The end or purpose soon becomes 
definite ; and a failure to reach the end results in the feel- 
ing of discomfort, while the accomplishment of the end 
results in the feeling of pleasure. The feeling of proper 
adjustment is closely related to or identical with the feel- 
ing of satisfaction. 

A few r general suggestions should receive the student's 
attention : Take advantage of the consciousness of being 
prepared on the subject-matter of the speech, as the feel- 
ing of composure and adjustment growing out of this is 
of incalculable advantage in every respect. Do not be 
painfully conscious and attentive as to the details of the 
effort; but, instead, the speaker should feel his way to the 
comfort of effective performance. Before beginning, he 
should get his bearings as to audience, and adjust him- 
self to the general aims and temper of his speech, and 
take time for the right impulses to assert themselves. The 
feeling that the speech is moving along easily should be 
fostered. 

Moods. — Moods are those habitual feelings that pre- 
occupy the mind, those fixed sets of feelings that hinder the 



60 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

person from realizing new ones. Each temperament, trade, 
and profession (this is especially true of the ministry) gives 
rise to a set of feelings peculiar to itself. These feelings 
are of narrow range, and are frequently so pronounced as 
to dominate the speaker. Some students require a recon- 
struction of their emotional character amounting to a new 
birth. Dominant sets of feelings must be guarded against, 
and a combination of temperaments cultivated. 

The student of speaking must submit to the unaccus- 
tomed. New ways of speaking, new ways of acting, are 
possible only to those who can welcome new feelings. The 
greater ease with which youth and those in early manhood 
can take up that which produces new feelings, indicates this 
period as the most hopeful one for the study and practice of 
the Elements of Public Speaking. 

2. Control through the Will. — The faults of the stu- 
dent of Public Speaking may be clearly pointed out. He 
soon learns to recognize his main faults for himself. He 
squeezes the voice in the throat ; he speaks too rapidly or too 
slowly ; he reads in monotone, and without reference to com- 
municating to the audience. Now, these and other faults 
may be affected by direct effort of the will. Inhibit by act 
of will all unpurposed movements of the mind and body. 
Possibly, inhibition is never purely negative, but includes 
the substitution of a purposed idea or act for one that is not 
purposed. For instance, anger is controlled by filling the 
mind with some other idea, say of pleasure or pity. Inhibi- 
tion of rapid delivery is accompanied by a substitution of 
the idea of orderly and deliberate movement. In ordinary 
control, however, the negative feature of inhibition is dwelt 
upon more fully than substitutionary activity, and practi- 
cally amounts to the same in result. 

"In an adult of pretty complete volitional control, almost all 
movements, whether of recreation or of business, are connected 
together through their reference to some unity, some final purpose 



CONTROL 6l 

which the man intends. There is involved first a process of inhi- 
bition, by which all movements not calculated to reach the end are 
suppressed; second, co-ordination, by which the remaining move- 
ments are brought into harmonious relations with each other ; and 
third, accommodation , by which they are all adjusted to the end 
present in consciousness. 

44 There is also a deepening of the control. The movements 
become organized, as it were, into the very structure of the body. 
The body becomes a tool more and more under command, a mech- 
anism better fitted for its end, and also more responsive to the 
touch. Isolated acts become capacity for action. That which has 
been laboriously acquired becomes spontaneous function. There 
result a number of abilities to act in this way or that — abilities to 
walk, to talk, to read, to write, to labor at the trade. Acquisition 
becomes function ; control becomes skill. These capacities are 
also tendencies. They constitute not only a machine capable of 
action in a given way at direction, but an automatic machine 
which, when consciousness does not put an end before it, acts for 
itself. It is this deepening of control which constitutes what we 
call habit."' 1 1 

1 Dewey's Psychology, p. 382. 



62 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER V 

RESERVED FORCE 

As the credit of a person is good, not by what he spends, 
but by what he holds, so also the strength of a speaker is 
great, not by what he uses, but by what he keeps in reserve. 
The tear in the eye stirs more than the tear on the cheek, 
and the suppressed groan is more affecting than the loud 
lament. While the audience demands vigor and earnest- 
ness, it also demands a control that shall master and direct 
that earnestness. The impression that great force is used 
upon small matters, and that the speaker's limitations are 
obvious, is fatal to success. 

Reserved force, however, is not suppressive of earnest- 
ness. The dull speaker may never be excessive nor extrava- 
gant in physical or emotional energy, but it cannot be said 
that he is governed by reserved force. He is, instead, 
lacking in force, since one can reserve only what he has. 
The speaker with the control of reserve, it is safe to say, 
feels more than others. He gives the impression that he 
has sources of power upon which he does not find it neces- 
sary to draw. His store of information is not exhausted; 
his physical strength could well endure more; his vocal 
force is within the range of easy delivery; his emotions are 
chastened within appropriate manifestation. 

Many speakers start out with an abrupt force that shocks 
the audience, and then allow the force gradually to dimin- 
ish. Consequently, at the climaxes there is insufficient 
force to make them effective, and finally the close is feeble. 
The process of good speaking has been reversed. Some- 
times excessive force continues uniform from beginning to 



RESERVED FORCE 63 

end; and at other times there is unnecessary and excessive, 
sometimes periodic, application of force. Other violations 
of this principle are excessive bodily action, pacing the 
platform, swinging the arms ; the lungs are allowed to 
become exhausted, the tone is breathy, .excessive loudness 
is obvious. 

Specialization of Function. — As specialization econ- 
omizes effort, it is to be regarded as an aspect of reserved 
force. By specialization of function is meant that in the 
accomplishment of any purpose only those agents, organs, 
or muscles are used that are necessary to the achievement 
of the specific aim. It implies also the successive instead 
of the simultaneous use of the several parts. The awkward 
walker, for example, exerts the whole body, while the 
graceful walker uses only the organs and muscles of loco- 
motion. Again, contrast the excessive muscular exertion 
of the person learning to ride the bicycle with the ease and 
localized effort of the skilful rider. 

In Public Speaking, there is a tendency to use too many 
parts, and to use the necessary parts simultaneously in any 
special act. At times, physical energy is substituted for 
vocal discrimination, noise for emphasis. In physical 
carriage, the body should be erect, free ; and in movements, 
only the organs of locomotion should be used. In voice, 
only the kind and force adapted to the special demand 
should be allowed. Excessive and laborious use should be 
guarded against. In enunciation, only the tip of the tongue 
should be active, if the proper sound demand it alone. In 
gesture, the whole body should not be thrown with the 
movements of the arms ; and the fingers should distinguish 
their function from that of the hand. 

These examples will serve to show the application of the 
principle of specialization in delivery. 

As might be supposed, specialization is realized by 
inhibiting the reflex participation of unrelated functions, 



64 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

and by educating the special functions to depend on their 
own office. For example, where emphasis is called for, 
train the voice to use emphasis instead of loudness." Again, 
when the hand and arm only are needed in gesture, compel 
the body to remain passive. To the audience, specializa- 
tion gives the impression of ease and elegance, and so sat- 
isfies the aesthetic demand of eye and ear. 

Reserved force manifests itself in the following ways : — 

1. In the physical bearing. It is strong, and every move- 
ment has a purpose, and is without excess. It is closely 
identified with physical control; the co-ordinations are 
accurate and timely, It suggests culture and good char- 
acter. 

2. In the use of the voice. The breath is all converted 
into tone. The chest is active, the lungs are well filled. 
Breathing is never labored nor obtrusive. There is an ab- 
sence of noisiness. 

3. In suppressed emotion. In reserved force, there is the 
impression given of strong and vital thought and feeling. 
The speaker seems to express less emotion than he feels. 
Intensity and dynamic effort, rather than noise, are the man- 
ifestations of such force. 

4. /;/ a masterful hold upon the audience. The speaker 
seems to hold the audience by direct effort of will. This 
hold upon the audience seems to reflect its power upon the 
speaker, and he in turn is restrained or held by the audi- 
ence. Poise and purpose are controlling. Mentally, 
emotionally, vocally, the audience is in the grasp of the 
speaker. The total impression upon the audience is that of 
vigor with ease. 

5. In specialized effort. This gives the impression of ease 
and grace. 



THE CONVERSATIONAL BASIS 6$ 



CHAPTER VI 

THE CONVERSATIONAL BASIS 

The conversational style of delivery is the next source 
of clearness, force, and elegance in Public Speaking. The 
communicative attitude of mind, direct address, is closely 
related to the conversational style. This style is the basis 
of all effective delivery. It is simple, direct, varied. 

The conversational is not to be confused with the feeble 
and indifferent manner of speaking. It demands anima- 
tion, energy, and is consistent with loudness. 

The main characteristic of the conversational is that of 
variety ; and in this respect is identical with our characteri- 
zation of speaking as opposed to reading. In the delivery 
of strongly emotional, oratoric, and forensic discourse, the 
delivery heightens with the emotion. Increased intensity, 
loudness, and dynamic effort will be demanded; but then 
the words containing the leading thought will be differenti- 
ated by change of pitch and increased ictus (emphasis), and 
by use of the characteristic long slides belonging to the 
conversational style. 

After each emotional heightening, there must be a return 
to the composure and discrimination of the conversational. 
Without this return the style becomes " declamatory," 
"speech-making," "noisy," "grandiloquent." This kind 
of delivery is loud, labored, and heavy, and is sometimes 
called monotonous. It deals with a single emotion; and 
even this does not grow out of the ideas involved, but is, 
rather, that vague feeling arising out of the notion that 
something important is being attempted. The emotion 
may be the prevailing emotion of the speech or composi- 



66 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

tion, without any of the varied emotions, the lights and 
shades, of the piece; but even in this case the speaker is 
blindly swept along. 

Transition. — An important aspect of the differentiating 
process of the conversational style is that of transition. The 
separation of the parts of the sentences, of one sentence 
from another, and the change from one paragraph to an- 
other, are clearly marked by pause, change of pitch, kind 
of voice, etc. The delivery changes with the varied 
thoughts and emotions. At the main divisions, there is 
a lull not unlike that of well-ordered conversation when 
the subject is spontaneously changed. The speaker then 
starts out with much of the composure and deliberation of 
a new beginning. 

Another aspect of the conversational delivery, closely 
allied to that of transition, is that of time-taking, or deliber- 
ation. 

In beginning, the speaker should be deliberate; for the 
persons of the audience are thinking of many things other 
than the speech. If he speak rapidly, they will become 
bewildered and be left behind. The speaker should be 
sure that the listeners are with him before the pace is 
greatly quickened. The same conditions are to be observed 
in the transitions of the main divisions. 

Time-taking is not to be confused with lazy, tardy, 
drawling delivery. In the heat of the emotion, the time 
may be unusually rapid: so also may the utterance of 
slurred phrases in all kinds of delivery; but even in rapid 
delivery some parts are retarded, and pauses made at ap- 
propriate places. 

Silence. — The hesitance and thoughtfulness, at times 
characteristic of the purely colloquial, should be allowed 
as a feature of the conversational style. Normal silence, 
arising from a transition of ideas, is an important factor 
in delivery. The mind of the speaker, however, at this 



THE CONVERSATIONAL BASIS 6j 

point must be active, as the silence resulting from mental 
vacuity is quite another matter. The silence resulting from 
waiting on the idea, or from adjusting one's self to a new- 
trend of ideas, is full of significance. It points to the past, 
and anticipates the future. At such pauses the listener is 
active, adjusting himself to the conditions; hence, no dis- 
appointment is felt, no time is lost. Contrast the short 
silence occasioned by a misplaced page of manuscript. 

The inexperienced speaker regards silence as ominous. 
To him it seems to suggest inefficiency and to presage fail- 
ure. He must hear his. voice constantly sounding. Ex- 
cept in the case of natural drawlers and stolid folks, the art 
of time-taking in delivery must be acquired. 

The Start. — Select persons (possibly an individual is 
better) in the farthest part of the audience, and direct your 
talk to them. To insure a proper start, Col. T. W. Hig- 
ginson recommends the speaker to say, when occasion 
admits, as in after-dinner speaking, "I was just saying to 
my friend here." This induces the conversational attitude. 
A favorable start is the best assurance of a good time 
speaking. To recover from a faulty beginning as to key, 
force, and time, is difficult, if not impossible. Think of 
good speaking as simply strong talk. 



68 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER VII 

THE AUDIENCE 

The next source of the essentials of Public Speaking is 
that of the audience. The speaker is conditioned by the 
audience as truly as the audience is affected by the speaker. 
A speech is, in fact, the joint product of speaker and audi- 
ence. The audience reflects the thought and feeling of the 
speaker; and the speaker, in turn, reflects the mind of the 
audience. He intuitively realizes the sympathy of the audi- 
ence, and is quick to feel when a false chord is struck. He 
realizes when an unwelcome or unharmonious idea is felt 
by the audience. The stimulus of attention and sympathy 
is, at times, exhilarating in the highest degree. In the 
highest flights of oratory, so unobserved are the symbols of 
communication, that the minds of the speaker and listener 
seem to affect each other immediately. Antagonism may 
overcome a feeble speaker; but he who is confident of the 
right and assured of his strength finds it a stimulus. He 
arouses his energies, determined to win. 

Speaking, in which there is not conscious communication, 
is destructive of everything that might be called eloquence. 
A response of some kind is essential to the welfare of 
speaking. Frequently the speaker is unconscious of this 
lack of grasp on the audience, because he is having a good 
time all alone, or is occupied with the subordinate pro- 
cesses of the speech. At other times, the conscious lack 
of grasp is realized in an overwhelming way. In order to 
communicate, the speaker must first of all gain, and then 
hold the attention of his audience. 

Attention. — "He held the attention of the audience 



THE AUDIENCE 69 

from the beginning to the close/' is often heard in proof of 
a successful effort. The ability to do this is one of the 
commonest tests of effective speaking. It is the safest one, 
too, if the speaker is sure that the attention given is spon- 
taneous. Spontaneous attention is the attention that the 
person must give because he cannot, under the circum- 
stances, avoid it. 

Frequently, however, the attention is voluntary or 
"forced," and is the result, not of the speaker's power, but 
of the good manners of the audience. The listener compels 
himself to attend. It requires effort, and involves purpose. 

A speaker with marked ability to hold the attention and 
to exert a masterful control over an audience is called 
magnetic. No description of a speaker's power is more 
common than this, and yet none is more vague. Sometimes 
it is used as a literal description of what takes place. The 
speaker is said to magnetize the audience with "animal 
magnetism." In describing the power of a certain speaker, 
a minister of more than ordinary culture once said to me, 
" I could almost see the fluid pass to the audience." With 
imagination a little more vivid, the cautious "almost" 
would have been turned into an absolute statement. 

What are the most striking effects produced by the " mag- 
netic " speaker? Rapt attention, that makes the listener 
oblivious to all else but the speech. The listener enters 
thoroughly into the thoughts, emotions, and volitions of 
the speaker. For the time he loses his independence ; he 
is susceptible to the slightest suggestion; he involuntarily 
applauds, laughs, cries, is pitiful, burns with indignation, 
becomes angry, as swayed by the thought of the speaker. 
The stir of the audience and the sigh of relief are the most 
common reaction from this kind of attention. The listener 
" comes to himself," somewhat as if waking out of a dream. 
Sometimes the issue is in action, as when the audience of 
Demosthenes cry out, "Let us march against Philip!" 



yO PUBLIC SPEAKING 

In rapt attention the members of an audience have been 
known to rise to their feet, sometimes to applaud, at other 
times to stand with fixed gaze and open mouth. 

Do not these manifestations suggest hypnotic states ? 
Certainly these results are not due to any occult power of 
mind or any mysterious " fluid." They are perfectly nor- 
mal, and are explicable as phenomena of spontaneous atten- 
tion. And as recent psychology gives up the theory of a 
"mesmeric fluid" and "animal magnetism," and accepts 
the phenomena of attention and suggestion — purely psychic 
processes — as an explanation of the hypnotic state, so, also, 
in analyzing the power of magnetic speaking, crude notions 
of a peculiar fluid must be abandoned. 

The matter of the speech and the manner of the delivery 
adapted to secure the spontaneous attention of the listener, 
— that is, to lead the attentive mind on step by step in the 
thought, feelings, volitions, and aims of the speaker, — is 
the only mystery involved. To secure, in some measure, this 
involuntary attention of the listener, even though genius is 
lacking, is the legitimate aim of every modest student of 
speaking. 

i. Communicative Attitude. — To secure attention and 
get a response, the speaker must, first of all, be in the com- 
municative attitude of mind. This is the attitude of direct 
address. As language is social in its function, it is impos- 
sible to a solitary mind. We may, indeed, have sounds and 
symbols without having language, for language always pre- 
supposes a real or imaginary mind addressed. In Public 
Speaking, the mind of the audience is directly communi- 
cated with by means of the voice and action. 

(i) The communicative attitude of mind speaks to, and 
not before, an audience. 

(2) It is essentially the vocative attitude. The speaker at 
his best spontaneously says, " My friends," " My neigh- 
bors," "My countrymen," "Fellow-citizens," "My brethren." 



THE AUDIENCE *J\ 

These are, in their best use, by no means mere comen- 
tions of speech. When the words are not used, the speaker 
should, from time to time, mentally supply the vocative. 

(3) The communicative attitude manifests itself in facing 
the audience. 

The speaker should not merely " appear before the audi- 
ence," but should look at it. The eye is not only expres- 
sive, but controlling. It first challenges attention, and 
leads in all expression by gesture. Gesture while looking 
intently at the manuscript, or above and beyond the audi- 
ence, is provokingly ineffective. In every description that 
necessarily takes the eye away from the audience, the eye 
starts from the audience and returns to it. Playing back 
and forth, the eye, together with the movement, says, " Do 
you see it ? " The speaker should localize individuals or 
groups, and study the effect of the effort upon them. To 
give proper pitch and direction to the voice, select a person 
in the farther part of the room, and speak to him as collo- 
quially as possible. In speaking to individuals of the audi- 
ence, however, do not " catch their eye," that is, to recognize 
them. Speaking then becomes, personal, and is liable to 
give offence. 

(4) Communication objectifies t/ie thought The subjective 
or soliloquizing attitude of mind is to be avoided. " Objec- 
tify," must be frequently urged upon the student. "Talk 
it out;" but not noisily or fussily. 

2. Deferential Attitude. — The deferential attitude of 
mind and manner quickens the sympathies of both speaker 
and audience. The arrogant, boastful attitude repels, while 
the simple and frank manner wins sympathy and attention. 
But deference to the audience has its sources in good-will. 

In these ways, if the matter is adapted to the purpose, 
the listener is interested, foreign thoughts excluded, and, 
by the laws of association, the mind is led on step by step 
in the thoughts and emotions, and to the purposes of the 
speaker. 



J2 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER VIII 

GOOD-WILL 

We have already, in several places in this treatise, come 
upon the idea that effective speech is in its roots moral. 
We face the same conception again. No one who, from 
the pulpit, at the bar, on the rostrum or platform, speaks 
upon serious matters, has any right to demand a hearing 
unless he intends the good of those addressed. The good 
of man is the most comprehensive aim of the speaker, as 
it is of all human effort. If one speak merely for entertain- 
ment, he must, in order to get into the best frame of mind 
for the purpose, even in this, will the temporary good of 
those addressed. If effective speech is essentially moral, 
it must be because of its aims. The aim of true speech 
is not victory, but the welfare of the individual and the 
race. 

Good-will toward those with whom we communicate has 
an inherent force that defies analysis. Some aspects of it, 
however, may be brought under our attention. 

i. The speaker inspired by good-will recognizes the rights 
and worth of man, and assumes the attitude of deference 
when speaking to men. This opens the door to their emo- 
tions through their sympathies. This right to civil and fair 
treatment is specifically recognized in the conventional com- 
pliments of Public Speaking. Though known to be con- 
ventional, they still have value, and are ineffective only 
when compliments degenerate into flattery. Compliment is 
all the more effective if genuinely sincere. 

2. Again, good-will is a fertile source of sympathy. Sym- 
pathy is one of the most practical demands of good speaking. 



GOOD-WILL 73 

By means of it the speaker reaches the listeners' point of 
view, feels what they feel, and is guided accordingly. It is 
the force of the "one mind." Interests are identical, the 
feelings are in accord, and the speaker is heard gladly. 

3. The confidential attitude is an important aspect of sym- 
pathy. In consequence of it the speaker is sincere, frank, 
— takes the audience into his thoughts and motives. Open- 
ing the channels for free communication, and bringing the 
mind into close touch, he reaches toward the audience and 
talks to its individuals. 

The confidential attitude is profitably attended to in con- 
nection with the voice and bearing. Vocal direction and 
modulation are immediately affected by it, as is also the 
physical bearing. The aspirate or half-whispered tone, care- 
fully directed to the individual, is the intense form of the 
confidential voice. But in speaking, other elements neces- 
sarily modify this form. Nothing, however, so develops the 
agreeable voice as the sympathetic emotions. 



74 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER IX 

VARIETY 

An adequate utilization of the principles already discussed 
will foster that variety which is indispensable to effective 
speaking. It should, however, be definitely held before the 
speaking-aim as a point to be realized. The demand for 
variety is fundamental in the human mind. Nature, with her 
infinite forms and colors, with her changes, is adapted to 
satisfy this demand for variety, which in its aspects of change 
and difference is fundamental in all thinking. Sensation is 
realized only through change or difference. For instance, 
the foul odor of a room is not detected by the occupant long 
accustomed to it. A person coming from out-of-doors, by 
contrast, at once forcibly appreciates the condition. We 
have already treated the importance of differentiation in the 
thinking process. This differentiation manifests itself ob- 
jectively as variety. 

Variety in the aspect of novelty is interesting to the lis- 
tener. It is a means of keeping the mind alert and atten- 
tive, and so reduces the effort of hearing. The mind says, 
" What next ? " and is constantly expectant. The soporific 
influence of uninteresting discourse, or of monotonous, uni- 
form delivery, is too familiar to most audiences. People 
sleep well — the senses are dormant under even loud noises 
when they are uniform. A lull in the delivery or actual 
pause is more arousing than uniformly loud tones. 

Variety must not be capricious. Changes of force, of rate, 
or of other elements, must grow out of the thought and feel- 
ing of the speech. The practice of a prominent preacher, 
formerly of Boston, well illustrated faulty change. He, in. a 



VARIETY 75 

most arbitrary fashion, would suddenly change the pitch. It 
was done to rest the voice. The change, and hence all its 
benefits, might have been secured by letting it be expressive 
of the variety in the thought and feeling. 

As in all art, so here, variety must, however, recognize 
the claims of Unity. The leading thought of the speech and 
principal aim must unify all the parts. The lesser unities 
of paragraphs, and even sentences, must not be overlooked. 
Moreover, each speech or selection has its own atmosphere 
or prevailing emotion underlying all the variety of its parts. 
It gives the ideational, and especially the emotional unity of 
speech. All the parts must harmonize with this unity. The 
atmosphere of tragedy differs from that of comedy. That 
of the funeral sermon differs from that of the cheerful essay. 
Each part of a discourse is colored emotionally by each im- 
mediately adjacent part. With the ideal differentiation the 
relation with reference to unity must also be observed. The 
anger of one part colors the tenderest sentiment of the adja- 
cent part. Words introducing a quotation are colored by 
the emotion of the quotation. 

But, possibly, variety is more difficult to realize than unity, 
and leading attention must be given to it. To secure vari- 
ety in the delivery, the speaker must first of all realize the 
content of the language. Again, by attending to the objec- 
tive aspects of delivery, controlling the kinds of voice, rate, 
pitch, and other features of delivery, one may more readily 
master this source of effective speaking. 



BOOK III 

ELEMENTS OF THE ESSENTIALS OF PUBLIC 
SPEAKING 



CHAPTER I 

ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 

Sec. I. Enunciation. — Enunciation refers to the deliv- 
ery of words as such. It involves purity of tone (to be dis- 
cussed under voice), syllabication, vowel moulding, and 
consonantal articulation. The distinct enunciation of words, 
including as it does the clear-cut coinage of syllables, is 
the leading element in the intelligibility or clearness of 
delivery. 

The mistake of supposing that distinct utterance depends 
upon loudness is common. I have found that persons of 
meagre training, speaking for the first time in a large hall, 
must almost invariably be restrained from excess of vocal 
effort. Noise is the result of such effort, but the words are 
unintelligible. Aiming at distinctness by means of loud 
and strained vocal effort leads to a clumsy formation of 
the vowels and consonants, and so defeats its purpose. 

Mr. A. M. Bell says that the Rev. Mr. Spurgeon, address- 
ing an audience of twenty-five thousand people in Agricul- 
tural Hall, in London, was, because of his accurate and 
vigorous enunciation, distinctly heard by all. 

For distinctness, the speaker should aim at pure rather 
than loud tone, and depend mainly upon effective enuncia- 
tion. 

Syllabication. — Although the syllable strikes the ear 
as a single impulse, it is usually composed of more than 

76 



ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS *]*] 

one element. The word "man "' has three, while " strands " 
has seven elements ; but they are uttered so quickly that 
they strike the ear as one sound. To do this well requires 
a quick, as well as an accurate action of the organs. At- 
tention should be centred rather upon syllables than upon 
words. 

Enunciation is frequently bad, because insufficient time 
is given to each word. The speaker attempts to give long 
words, and words difficult to utter, in the time of short 
words, and words easy of utterance. This results in a 
tumbling or skipping of syllables. Taking care, then, of 
the syllables remedies this feature of faulty enunciation. 
Such words as "uninterrupted," " indivisibility n must be 
given time, so also difficult combinations, especially a suc- 
cession of sounds of the same order. Try the following 
sentence from Carlyle : "In this world with its wild whirl- 
ing eddies and mad foam oceans . . . dost thou think that 
there is therefore no justice? " 

Accent. — Each accented syllable requires a separate 
and decided vocal impulse or ictus, while the unaccented 
syllable may be given with remission of the effort. For 
instance, in " king, king," and in "boy-hood" each syllable 
requires a separate impulse; but in "kingly" and "boy- 
ish," the unaccented syllables are given with the vocal 
remission. It is evident, then, that neglect of the accent 
lessens the vigor of enunciation. 

Vowel Moulding. — Shaping the mouth for the vowel 
formation may most accurately be called moulding the 
vowel. The student should appreciate this characteristic 
of vowel formation. A fuller understanding of the nature 
of both vowels and consonants must prove helpful in their 
utterance. A vowel is the result of vocalization with a 
definite, fixed position of the organs of enunciation. It is 
syllabic, and in its formation the breath is not obstructed. 

A consonant is the result of vocalization with a definite. 



?S PUBLIC SPEAKING 

fixed position of the organs of enunciation. It is non- 
syllabic; and in its formation the breath or voice is ob- 
structed by two articulating parts ; as, for instance, the tip 
of the tongue and hard palate in "t." Consonants are artic- 
ulated, while vowels are moulded. In current enunciation 
the obstruction is but momentary ; but it is sharp and accu- 
rate. Vowels form the sensuous, and consonants the intel- 
lectual elements of speech. The use of the latter is the 
prerogative of man alone. Women articulate better than 
men ; the cultivated, better than the uncultivated. Clear- 
cut enunciation is one of the signs of intellectuality and 
refinement. 

The student should accustom himself to an elementary, 
that is, separate utterance of the vowels and consonants. 

English Vowels. — The following is Mr. A. M. Bell's 
list of vowels : — 



I. 


Eve 




7- 


orange 








13. 


do 


2. 


ill 




8. 


ah 








14. 


cure 


3- 


ale 




9- 


err 








15. 


pole 


4- 


care 




10. 


up 








16. 


ore 


5- 


met 




11. 


ice 








17. 


all 


6. 


at 




12. 


far 








18. 


on 






1 = i+ e; 


a = a 


+ ee; 


= 


+ 


00 







A (far), 66 (pool), and e (feel), may be regarded, so far 
as the position of tongue, lips, and vocal cords are involved, 
as typical vowels. 

In "a," the lower jaw drops, the upper lip is lifted and 
arched, showing the central upper teeth, the aperture con- 
forming in a general way to the outline of a triangle, 
whose base is the lower lip. The tongue is flattened and 
hollowed. 

In a general way, the position for " e " is the reverse of 
this. The mouth is extended from side to side. The posi- 
tion is a more nearly closed one, and the organs are brought 
nearer together. It is the " smiling " position of the mouth. 

In " 00 " the lips are rounded. 



ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 79 

English Consonants. — The following is Mr. A. M. 
Bell's list of consonants : — 



With 


breath only. 


With \ 


•OICE. 


With nasal voice 


Th 


in 


thin. 


B 


in 


ban. 


M in man. 


Wh 


in 


whey. 


V 


in 


voice. 


N in nun. 


F 


in 


fell. 


w 


in 


will. 


Wg in song. 


S 


in 


sin. 


D 


ID 


do. 




Sh 


in 


shun. 


Th 


in 


this. 




T 


in 


tin. 


L 


in 


lo. 




H 


in 


how. 


R 


in 


ray. 




K 


in 


king. 


Z 


in 


zinc. 




Q 


in 


queen. 


Zh 


in 


vision. 




P 


in 


pin. 


Y 


in 


yes. 




C 


in 


church. 


G 
J 


in 
in 


g°- 

judge. 





Exercise. — From the nature of vowels and consonants, 
it must appear that skill in enunciation is secured by means 
of the accuracy^ pj'oviptness, and vigor of their utterance. 
Practice to this end must be elementary. Supplementary 
attention moreover, while in the act of speaking, may be 
given to enunciation. 

Practice. — (i) Fronting the tone. (To be discussed 
under the section on voice.) 

(2) Sounding the separate vowels and consonants of the 
tables. 

(3) Shaping the mouth for lip-mobility : with voice, and 
again without voice, round the lips on do, rapidly change to 
ah, and then to e. Thus : do, ah, e, etc. 

(4) Spelling words phonetically. 

(5) Exercising the tip of the tongue. Practice do, do, 
etc., rapidly; change to to, to, etc. ; now repeat t; fa, la, si, 
do." 

(6) Speaking with exaggerated movements of the tongue 
and lips, as though talking to the deaf, generously opening 
the mouth — teeth as well as lips. 



80 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

(7) Carefully and patiently pronouncing each separate 
word of any selection to be delivered. 

(8) Enouncing difficult combinations : fifth, eighth, this, 
then, should'st, would'st, sixty-sixth, cloud-capt, ing, ness, 
lovedst. 

" 'Twas a wild, mad kind of a night, as black as the bottomless pit, 
The wind was howling away like a Bedlamite in a fit, 
Tearing the ash boughs off, and mowing the poplars down, 
In the meadows beyond the old flour-mill where you turn to go off to the 
town." 

"Nothing could stop old Lightning Bess but the broad breast of the 
sea.'' 

" Lovely art thou, O Peace, and lovely are thy children, and lovely are 
thy footsteps in the green valleys." 

wild whirling e^ies. . . . 

(9) In speaking, (1) avoid forcing the voice ; (2) centre 
the attention upon syllables ; (3) attend to the final syllable 
of each word ; (4) project the tone, making the consonants 
fricative, and giving the vowels due quantity. 

Sec. II. Emphasis. — The intelligibility, or clearness, 
of the delivery depends in the next place upon Emphasis. 
By change of emphasis, as many different ideas may be 
conveyed as the sentence contains words. It follows from 
this, that an emphasis not sharply given may blur, and 
one placed at random may defeat the intended meaning. 
Hence it is of practical importance to know how to empha- 
size a word. The intention to emphasize a word makes the 
thought of that word stand out prominently in the mind. 

A word is made emphatic by making it stand out promi- 
nently from among the rest of the sentence. For intellec- 
tive emphasis this is done by placing the word on a higher 
pitch, and uttering it with increased ictus. This stress must, 
of course, be upon the accented syllable. The accented 



ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 8 1 

syllable bears the same relation to its word as the emphatic 
word bears to its sentence. 

"The feudalism of Capital is not a whit less formidable 
than the feudalism of Force." x The words " capital " and 
"force" are rendered emphatic by being lifted on a higher 
pitch than the rest of the words, and by increased ictus. 
Change the emphasis to other words and the meaning is 
changed. 

There is another order of emphasis, mainly emotional, 
given by pausing before or after a word or phrase, and the 
use of a different kind of voice. 

" Up the English come — too late." 

Pausing before the phrase "too late" illustrates this kind 
of emphasis. Ordinarily emphasis means the treatment of 
the word as first described. It is by far the most impor- 
tant feature of emphasis, and the latter order is mentioned 
mainly for completeness of treatment. 

Sometimes the idea to be emphasized is contained in a 
phrase. In this case the phrase is to be regarded as a long 
compound word. 

In applying emphasis, it is of primary importance to know 
what word to emphasize. To determine the proper word to 
emphasize, main reliance must be placed upon the analysis 
of the language-content. Sometimes, however, the meaning 
that best suits the mind's purpose is found out by trying 
different emphases, and so allowing the ear to guide. The 
clearer the style of the composition, the easier it is to 
select the right emphasis. Since the thought process is one 
of comparison, the w r ord containing the new idea or anti- 
thetic idea must always receive the leading emphasis. Be- 
yond the primary and secondary emphasis the objective 
treatment cannot profitably go. 

1 Horace Mann. 

2 Browning: Herve Riel 



82 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

Faults. — The more common faults to be guarded against 
are, briefly, these : — 

i. Emphasizing too many words. Where all are generals, 
there can be no privates. 

2. Emphasizing words at regular intervals. 

3. Emphasizing unimportant words. 

4. Emphasizing words at random. 

As already stated, the main dependence for correctly pla- 
cing emphasis is in clear thinking. 

Sec. III. Phrasing, or Grouping. — In the analysis 
under the chapter on " Content of Language," we have found 
that a sentence contains, (1) that of which something is 
stated, and (2) that which is stated of the something. Now, 
these leading parts of the idea are restricted, extended, 
and otherwise modified by subordinate ideas. Some of 
them affect the subject, others the predicate. In some sen- 
tences additional ideas of co-ordinate value, in others 
parenthetical or explanatory ideas, are introduced. Clear- 
ness, then, in delivery, requires that these relations be ex- 
pressed. This is done by vocal punctuation and other 
modifications called phrasing, or grouping. The principal 
means of phrasing are, pause, flitch, and rate; and although 
inflection is primarily expressive of emotional states, it also 
plays an important part in grouping, since, in this, the 
falling slide closes the thought, while the rising slide in- 
dicates an incomplete idea. 

Ideas are discriminated by pausing between them. The 
degree of their separation determines the length of the 
pause. Ideas of equal value assume, in the main, the same 
pitch. Parenthetical and other subordinate ideas are slurred 
by the use of more rapid utterance. Such a phrase, when in- 
troducing an important explanation, becomes a leading idea, ' 
and is treated accordingly; that is, it is given in slower time. 

Elliptical ideas are accounted for by means of pauses. 
A single sentence may illustrate grouping. 



ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 83 

"It may, in the next place, be asked, perhaps, supposing 
all this to be true, what can we do? " 1 The group, " in the 
next place," is formed by pausing before the word "in" and 
after "place," and by giving the group on a lower pitch, 
with slightly increased rate; "be asked" returns to the pitch 
of "it may," and slows down slightly. The group, "per- 
haps,'' receives a pause before and after, and is rendered 
on a lower pitch. The ellipsis, or omitted part, after "per- 
haps " is "be asked," hence, pause as long as would be 
required to say these words. The group, "supposing . . . 
true," is separated by pause, and still lower pitch and 
faster time. The group, " what . . . do ? " is separated by 
pause, and returns to the pitch of the first two words of the 
sentence. 

Sec. IV. Transition. — Transition may be regarded as 
an accompaniment, if not an aspect, of phrasing and group- 
ing. More exactly, it describes the changes that take place 
in passing from one group to another. As we have already 
shown, some of these groups are within the sentence. But 
there are larger groups or unities that must be attended to 
in delivery. Each completed idea, usually indicated by 
the sentence, must be clearly separated from its fellows. 
A transition from a literal statement to an illustration, from 
one part of a description to another, must be distinctly made. 

The passage from one paragraph to another, from one 
stanza to another, being among the larger groups, requires 
transition of wider intervals. 

While transition primarily marks the thought-groups of 
the speech, it is also expressive of the emotional changes 
of the group. The ebb and flow of any emotion, and the 
change from one emotion to another, are among the occa- 
sions for transition. These emotional changes may be as 
widely divergent as the grave and the gay, or so delicate 
as to be difficult to analyze. 

1 Daniel Webster : Public Opinion. 



84 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

Transition from group to group is effected, first of all, by 
pausing between groups, and then by change of rate, of 
pitch, and of kinds of voice within the group. 

While no attempt is made to illustrate the fine shades of 
grouping and transition, it is thought worth the while, on a 
single sentence, to give the main features of the grouping, 
with special reference to the emotion. 

"'Tis true this god did shake; his coward lips did from 
their color fly. " The group, " 'tis true," reaffirms with 
slight irony. The transition to the group "this god," is 
marked with intense irony. Transition to "did shake," 
less ironical, strongly affirmatory of a suppository denial of 
shaking. The groups, " 'Tis . . . shake," are given with 
irony, — high pitch, deliberation, circumflex. The transi- 
tion or change to the second member is marked. A tinge 
of irony remains. But Cassius attempts to be rather more 
indifferent, and to make, mainly, a statement of fact, lower 
pitch, more rapid rate, major slides. 

How, then, may the speaker become skilful in the use 
of Transition ? In this, as in other aspects of speaking, 
the main dependence should be in mental activity. Some 
common hindrances, however, may be noted, and a few 
hints be given from the objective point of view. 

The following are the more common faults : — 

i. I have frequently found pupils grouping by mechani- 
cally following the punctuation. Punctuation only in a 
general way indicates the pauses of delivery, and does not 
reach at all changes of rate and pitch. Sometimes the 
pause is as long at a comma as it is at other times at a 
period. 

2. Another common fault is the habit of running on 
without change as long as the breath allows, and, in the 
main, pausing only to supply the lungs. Akin to this 
is the fault of capricious pausing without reference to 
sense. 



ELEMENTS OF CLEARNESS 85 

3. The fault of falling into a melodic swing, and paus- 
ing at regular intervals, is to be guarded against. 

4. Probably no fault under this head is more common 
than that of hurriedly pouring out words, with little or no 
recognition of differentiated parts. Such delivery is fluent, 
but fluency is not eloquence. 

As restlessness and anxiety precipitate the speaker into 
false pausing and pitch, he should direct his attention to 
ease and time-taking, and by effort of will apply pause, 
pitch, and rate according to the requirements of transition. 
Always distinctly aim at making the thought clear. 



86 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



CHAPTER II 

ELEMENTS OF FORCE 

Sec. I. A Good Voice. — A voice may be clear, ring- 
ing, and easily heard at a distance, and still not be a 
good voice. For a voice may have those qualities, and at 
the same time be harsh, throaty, strident, and be limited in 
range of pitch, and, most serious of all, deficient in musi- 
cal quality. To be good, a voice must be, not only z.n 
organ of clear enunciation, but be capable also of ex- 
pressing all shades and complexities of emotions. This 
capability is due, in the main, to its musical quality. A 
voice of this kind contributes primarily to force; but in- 
asmuch as a musical voice is agreeable in itself, it also 
satisfies the aesthetic demands. 

A good voice is characterized by Strength, Flexibility, 
Purity, Range of Pitch, and Resonance. 

i. Strength refers to those qualities that render the voice 
capable of sustained effort, and to its capacity for loudness. 
Its further and most satisfactory manifestation is a well- 
supported tone that gives the impression of solidity. 
Strength is favorably affected by a healthy condition of 
the lungs, and of the muscles and membrane of the vocal 
passage; but it is secured principally by the strength and 
proper use of the muscles of respiration. If the diaphrag- 
matic and other muscles of respiration fail to act strongly 
and accurately, a feeble, relaxed tone, lacking in the power 
of projection, results. While it is true that a strong 
resilience of the lungs aids in strength of tones, vocal 
strength does not, as popularly supposed, depend mainly 
upon " strong lungs,' 7 but upon the strength and upon the 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 87 

sustained resistance of the inspiratory, against the expiratory 
act of breathing. 

In ordinary breathing, the rather long act of inspiration 
is followed by a sudden relaxation of the inspiratory mus- 
cles, and quick expulsion of the breath. This process, 
although normal in ordinary breathing, is reversed in the 
production of voice. Hence, in speaking, the tendency 
is still to sudden expulsion of breath, and consequent 
feeble tone. This must give place to strong and sustained 
muscular action, resulting in slow and firm dealing out of 
the breath. 

2. Flexibility. By flexibility of voice is meant the 
ability to change easily from pitch to pitch, on successive 
syllables, either by sliding, or by a distinct change from 
one pitch to another. It includes also the "vanish" or 
slide of the voice on the single vowel. For instance, "a" 
is properly a compound tone composed of a -f- e. As or- 
dinarily pronounced by a good voice, the latter part (e) of 
the sound glides to a lower pitch. Harsh tones result in 
part from a lack of this " vanishing," or gliding. From 
these considerations it is at once evident that the music of 
the tone is enriched by flexibility. 

3. Purity of tone. To be most effective, a voice must be 
composed of pure tones ; that is, tones free from waste of 
breath. Upon this quality the carrying power of the voice 
primarily depends. It is also one of the conditions of rich 
resonance. Vocalizing while panting and puffing after vio- 
lent exercise gives an exaggerated exhibition of breathy 
voice. But sudden collapse, running too long on one breath, 
and faulty adjustment of the vocal cords, are the more 
common causes of impure tones. 

4. Range of pitch. That many speakers use a limited 
range of pitch, usually too high or too low, is a matter of 
common observation. The use of the medium pitch, ranging 
above and below according to the emotional demands, is 



Od PUBLIC SPEAKING 

quite as necessary in speech as in music. The nature and 
power of this use hardly need extended treatment. 

5. Resonance. Even persons unskilled in vocal analy- 
sis call one voice "harsh;" another, "thick;" another, 
"throaty;" and so on; and, on the other hand, they say 
another is " ringing ; " another, " rich and full ; " and still 
another is called "pleasant," or "musical." The last term 
is not only a popular, but also an accurate description of a 
voice rich in resonance. This property of voice variously 
called " timbre," "klang," "color," "quality," is that which 
gives individuality to voice, or which distinguishes one voice 
from another ; for each voice has its own way of combining 
its partial with its fundamental tones, and it can be distin- 
guished from another, just as we distinguish a flute from a 
violin or an organ, by the characteristics of its resonance. 
The meaning of fundamental and partial tones, and the part 
they play in resonance, may be made clear by a brief dis- 
cussion of the physical basis of voice. 

Sound. — Physical acoustics is a section of the theory of elastic 
bodies. Elastic bodies vibrating, set the air in vibration, pro- 
ducing wave-like motions that reach to distant points. These 
wave-like motions radiate in all directions, and are similar to the 
agitation produced by throwing a stone into a placid sheet of 
water. The air vibrations, if sufficiently rapid, striking upon the 
ear, produce the sensation of sound. 

Sounds are distinguished as (a) musical tones and as (b) 
noises. Musical tones result from rapid periodic vibrations of 
sonorous bodies. Noises result from non-periodic vibrations. 

Musical tones are distinguished as to — 

1. Force or loudness. 

2. Pitch or relative height. 

3. Quality. 

Vibrations of sonorous bodies producing sound may be seen 
by the naked eye ; felt, as in touching a tuning-fork ; and by mechan- 
ical contrivances their amplitude, form, and rapidity may be deter- 
mined. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 89 

Force* or loudness of sound, depends upon amplitude of vibra- 
tion. The wider the vibration, the louder the sound. 

Pitch, or place in the scale, depends upon the rapidity or rate of 
vibration. The greater the number of vibrations in a second, the 
higher the pitch. The highest audible number of vibrations is 
3S.000 per second ; the lowest. 20 per second : from 40 to 4,000 (7 
octaves) only are valuable for music or speech. The number of 
vibrations is very accurately determined by means of an instru- 
ment called the siren, consisting of a perforated disk in rapid 
revolution. 

Quality is that peculiarity which distinguishes the musical tones 
of a flute from a violin, or that distinguishes different voices, and 
depends upon the form of vibration. 

A string or resonant body is found to vibrate not only the entire 
length, but at the same time in sections which are aliquot parts of 
the whole. 

The sounds of these sectional vibrations, combined with the 
sound of the whole or prime vibration, give a compound tone that 
ordinarily reaches the ear as one tone. The tones of these sec- 
tional vibrations are called overto7ies, or partials, and mingling with 
the tone of the prime vibration, give the quality of tone. The 
prime tone is generally the loudest and lowest, and names the pitch 
of the compound. The "upper partial tones " are harmonics of 
the prime. 

Compound Tones. — The most important of the series of these 
upper partial tones are as follows : — 

The first upper partial is an octave above the prime, and makes 
double the number of vibrations in the same time. 

The second upper partial is a twelfth above the prime, making 
three times the number of vibrations in the same time as the 
prime. 

The third upper partial is two octaves above the prime, with four 
times as many vibrations. 

The fourth upper partial is two octaves and a major third above 
the prime, with five times as many vibrations. 

The fifth upper partial tone is two octaves and a major fifth 
above the prime, with six times as many vibrations. 

The sixth upper partial is two octaves and a sub-minor seventh 
above the prime, with seven times as many vibrations. 



gO PUBLIC SPEAKING 

The seventh upper partial is three octave:; above the prime, with 
eight times the number of vibrations. 

Many other partials occur in some compound tones, but always 
in the same relative position. 

"Simple tones have a very soft, pleasant sound, free from all 
roughness, but wanting in power, and dull at low pitches." 

" Musical tones, which are accompanied by a moderately loud 
series of the lower upper partial tones up to about the sixth par- 
tial, are more harmonious and musical. Compared with simple 
tones they are rich and splendid, while they are at the same time 
perfectly sweet and soft if the higher upper partials are absent."" 

"If only the uneven partials are present, the quality of tone 
is hollow ; and when a large number of such partials are present, it is 
nasal. When the prime tone predominates, the quality of the tone 
is rich or full j but when the prime tone is not sufficiently superior 
in strength to the upper partials, the quality of the tone is poor or 
empty. 

"When partial tones higher than the sixth or seventh are very 
distinct, the quality of the tone is cutting and rough. The degree 
of harshness may be very different. When their force is inconsid- 
erable, the higher upper partials do not essentially detract from the 
musical applicability of the compound tones ; on the contrary, they 
are useful in giving character and expression to the music." 

" Tuning-forks are the most difficult to set in sympathetic vibra- 
tion. To effect this they must be fastened on sounding-boxes 
which have been exactly tuned to their tone. If we have two such 
forks of exactly the same pitch, and excite one by a violin bow, the 
other will begin to vibrate in sympathy, even if placed at the 
farther end of the room, and it will continue to sound when the first 
is damped. The astonishing nature of such a case of sympathetic 
vibration will appear, if we merely compare the heavy and powerful 
mass of steel set in motion with the light, yielding mass of air, 
which produces effect by such small motive pow 7 er that it could not 
stir the lightest spring which was not in tune with the fork. With 
such forks the time required to set them in full swing by sympa- 
thetic action is also of sensible duration, and the slightest disagree- 
ment in pitch is sufficient to produce a sensible diminution in the 
sympathetic effect. By sticking a piece of wax to one prong of 
the second fork, sufficient to make it vibrate once in a second less 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 91 

than the first, a difference of pitch scarcely sensible to the finest 
ear, the sympathetic vibration will be wholly destroyed.''' 1 

Thus sympathetically the chambers of the pharnyx, ventricles, 
Hares, mouth — the entire vocal passage, chest, and head — re-en- 
force the tones of the vocal bands. 

Vowel-resonance. — One vowel sound is distinguished from 
another, though both have the same pitch and intensity. This 
fact was long a question of inquiry. Sir C. Wheatstone first stated 
the true theory, which was afterwards subjected to exhaustive 
study by Helmholtz. '* The vibrations of the vocal bands associ- 
ate with the vibrations of the resonant cavity of the mouth, which 
can so alter its shape as to resound at will either the fundamental 
tones of the vocal cords or any of their overtones. With the aid 
of the mouth, therefore, we can mix together the fundamental tone 
and the overtones of the voice in different combinations. " Helm- 
holtz w T as able to imitate those tones by tuning-forks, and by com- 
bining them appropriately to produce the sounds of the vowels. 

I once had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Alexander Graham Bell 
exhibit the fact that vocal pitch may be determined by the shape 
of the mouth cavity. Closing the mouth, and moving the tongue 
to alter the shape of the cavity to suit, the pitches of the scale w r ere 
distinctly produced by snapping a lead-pencil placed against the 
windpipe. 

For practical purposes we distinguish the chest from the 
head resonance. The former is brilliant, clear, and ringing ; 
the latter is full and mellow. Chest resonance is due to the 
actual sympathetic vibrations of the chest ; while the head 
resonance is due to the resonance of the face and head. Some 
voices use more of one than of the other, while some com- 
bine the two for the ordinary voice. The varied use of res- 
onance is determined by the kind of emotion to be expressed. 

Vocal Defects. — Besides defects resulting from natural 
limitations and disease, there are others due to a lack of 
skill in the use of the organs. The latter are removable, 
and the accomplishment of this forms an important part 

1 Sensation of Tone. Helmholtz. 



92 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

of the minor problem of Public Speaking. They may be 
described as follows : — 

i. Squeezed-back voice. This is the guttural voice, and re- 
sults from an attempt to manage the voice by means of the 
throat muscles, rather than by use of the deep respiratory 
muscles. 

2. Fall-back voice. This results from a failure to contin- 
uously support the voice. Instead, it allows it to fall back in 
the throat ; and it is slightly squeezed, especially at pauses. 

3. Back-back voice. This is the voice improperly " fo- 
cused.'' It is held far back in the pharynx. It lacks sup- 
port and projection, and sounds muffled, feeble, and far off. 
An over-cautious use of the voice in case of a sore throat 
generally exhibits this quality. 

4. Nasality, resulting from lowering the soft palate and 
uvula, and allowing the voice to beat against them instead 
of freely passing to the front part of the mouth, is a most 
common fault. 

5. Thick or mouthful voice, resulting from carrying the 
tongue too high, and attempting to articulate with the top 
instead of with the tip of the tongue. 

6. I/uskiness, resulting from thickened vocal cords, and 
from allowing non-vocalized breath to escape because of a 
faulty adjustment of the vocal cords. 

Besides the causes assigned to the several faults named, 
the habit of run?ii?ig too long on one breath is the frequent 
accompaniment of husky, feeble, and squeezed voice. 

Vocal Development. — In analyzing the leading faults 
of voice, it will be found that they are due either to a failure 
to support and control the voice by means of the diaphrag- 
matic and other deep respiratory muscles, or to an improper 
obstruction of the vocal passage at some point, or to both. 
It will be found, moreover, that the qualities of good voice 
depend upon the reverse ; that is, upon a deep support and 
control, and a relaxed and free condition of the vocal pas- 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 93 

sage. A recognition of these two facts renders simpler 
our understanding of the main features of vocal develop- 
ment. 

Vocal support and control involve deep breathing. The 
more obvious signs of deep breathing are as follows : While 
avoiding the sudden lifting of the shoulders and upper part 
of the chest, and directing the inspired breath to the lower 
part of the chest or upper part of the abdomen, it will be 
observed that this part of the body, together with the sides, 
will be pressed out, and then followed by a slight falling 
in of the same, and an enlargement of the whole chest. 
Leading attention, however, is to be given to the deep 
distention. The following description of respiration, the 
facts and quotations of which are from Dr. Martin's " The 
Human Body, " may aid in an understanding of the breath- 
ing process : — 

1. The Enlargement of the Thorax for Inspiration. — (1) The 

diaphragm is a strong, sheet-like muscle, arching up dome-like, 
separating the chest and the abdominal cavities. Its muscular 
fibres radiate from the dome downwards and outwards, and are 
attached to the breastbone, the lower ribs, and the vertebral 
column. By contraction the diaphragm sinks to a horizontal 
position, thus greatly increasing the size of the thorax vertically. 

(2) The ribs slope downwards from the vertebral column to 
the breastbone. " The scale7te muscles, three on each side, arise 
from the cervical vertebrae, and are inserted into the upper ribs. 
The external intercostal lie between the ribs, and extend from the 
vertebral column to the costal cartilages ; the fibres slope down- 
wards and forwards." 

" During inspiration the scalenes contract, and fix the upper ribs 
firmly ; then the external intercostal shorten, and each raises the 
rib below it." Thus the ribs are elevated, the breastbone shoved 
out from the spine, and the capacity of the thorax enlarged from 
front back. Other muscles are employed, but chiefly in offering 
points of resistance to those already described. These are the 
principal ways of enlarging the chest, and require considerable 
muscular effort. 



94 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

Now, when the chest is enlarged, the space between the lun^s 
and sides of the chest forms a cavity which contains no air. The 
external air, with a pressure of 14.5 pounds to the square inch, 
rushes in when the glottis of the air-box is open, distends the 
lungs, just as an elastic bag suspended in a bottle may be made 
to distend and touch the sides of the bottle from which the an- 
nas been exhausted. 

2. Expiration. — In expiration very little muscular effort is 
required. After inspiration, the muscles relax, and the sternum 
and ribs fall to their former position. The elastic abdominal wall 
presses the contained viscera against the under side of the dia- 
phragm, arching it up. Thus the air is sent out in passive breathing 
most largely by the elasticity of the parts stretched in inspiration, 
rather than by special expiratory muscles. 

In the forced breathing of vocal effort, the muscles of expiration 
assist in the expulsion of air. " The main expiratory muscles are 
the internal intercostal, which lie beneath the external, between 
each pair of ribs, and have an opposite direction, their fibres run- 
ning upwards and forwards.'" The internal intercostal, contract- 
ing, pull down the upper ribs and sternum, and so diminish the 
size of the thorax from front back. 

At the same time the lower ribs and breastbone are pulled down 
by a muscle running in the abdominal wall from the pelvis to them. 
" At the same time, also; the abdominal muscles contract and press 
the walls of that cavity against the viscera, force the diaphragm to 
arch up, and lessen the cavity from up down.". 

In violent inspiration many extra muscles are called into play, 
chiefly as points of firm resistance, or otherwise assisting the usual 
muscles of inspiration. 

In violent expiration, also, many other muscles may co-operate 
with the usual muscles, tending to diminish the thoracic cavity. 

3. Kinds of Breathing. — The breathing that brings the upper 
part of the chest into the greatest action, and lifts the clavicles or 
collar bones excessively, is called " clavicular breathing."" It is 
readily seen that the lungs in this kind of breathing can only be 
partially filled, as the lower part of the chest is still contracted. 

When breathing is carried on by action of the ribs, it is then 
called "costal," or "chest-breathing." This, like "clavicular 
breathing," does not admit of the lungs being fully distended. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 95 

That breathing which brings the diaphragm into action, which 
is indicated by the external movement of the upper part of the 
abdomen outward, is called "diaphragmatic, 11 "abdominal," or 
" deep breathing." This fills the lungs completely, and is evi- 
dently the normal breathing. Many physiologists have taught, 
and still teach, that while men and children breathe abdominally, 
women breathe with the chest. 

Dr. Martin, among the leaders of scientific specialists, 
says : u In both cases the diaphragmatic breathing is the 
most important. Women are again warned of the danger 
and folly of tight lacing, which prevents natural breathing." 

" Diaphragmatic" breathing, with the "chest" breathing, 
is known as " compound " breathing. This gives the great- 
est lung capacity, and at the same time makes possible the 
use of the muscles of expiration in the forced breathing of 
vocal effort. Very clearly, then, diaphragmatic or abdom- 
inal breathing, aside from its relation to health, is indis- 
pensably necessary to the speaker. Without it, he will 
frequently " run out" of breath, and find it impossible to 
project strong tone. 

Exercises. The following are the exercises prescribed for 
deep vocal support and control : — 

Series I. i. Breathe while lying upon the back. In 
this position it is hardly possible to breathe other than 
deeply. 

2. (i) Stand erect with lifted chest, place the fingers of 
both hands (palms toward the body) against the upper part 
of the abdomen. Slowly expel the breath from behind the 
fingers ; now breathe against the fingers. 

(2) Take the same position, breathe in suddenly, avoid 
lifting the shoulders, breathe out slowly. 

3. Practise frequently while sitting, walking, and stand- 
ing, prompt or instantaneous filling of the lungs, holding the 
breath for an instant, then as slowly as possible letting the 
breath out. 



g6 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

In breathing to support life, and especially during sleep, 
inspiration is slow and expiration is sudden ; but in forced 
breathing, for speaking purposes, inspiration is sudden and 
expiration is slow ; hence the value of practice in slow or 
controlled expiration. 

4. Take the second exercise under number 2, and 
slightly vocalize the vowel a (far) while breathing out. 

5. Take an erect attitude, with hands passive at the side, 
and with more voice and with more force chant the sen- 
tence, " Breathe, breathe out all." 

" An ali-pervading voice." 

il Break, break, break, 
On thy cold grey stones, O sea ! " 

Tennyson. 

6. Take the same position, chant in measured mono- 
tone, moderate force : — 

"The ocean old, centuries old, 

Strong as youth,- and as uncontrolled, 

Paces restless to and fro 

Up and down the sands of gold." 

Longfellow. 

An essential of the exercises given in Series I. is the rec- 
ognition of the fact that the deep respiratory muscles are the 
active, and the throat muscles the relatively passive agents. 

All feeling of tension and discomfort of the throat and 
neck muscles must be avoided ; and instead, the feeling of 
relaxation and of the open vocal passage should be main- 
tained. The tones are made to "float out." 

Again, the same vocal exercises should be given with 
special attention to lifting the uvula and the soft palate. 
Determine this by looking in a glass. Afterward be guided 
by the feeling of the lifted position. A slight gaping effort 
also lifts the soft palate. 

Before proceeding to Series II. , the student should acquire 
some skill in Series I. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 97 

Series II. In this series, the form of the tone is explo- 
sive or dynamic, instead of diffusive. The general observa- 
tions under Series I. are applicable here. 

i. Stand erect, with lifted chest, fingers on the upper 
part of the abdomen, gentle force, diaphragmatic stroke, 
vocalize, ha (far). 

2. The same exercise with slightly increased force: — 

" Up drawbridge, groom. 
What, warder, ho ! " 

Walter Scott. 

The same exercise with increased force : — 

11 Forward, the light brigade, 
Charge for the guns, he said." 

Tennyson. 

For variety, the student or teacher, keeping in mind the 
leading object, may add other exercises. After some skill 
in Series I. and II. is achieved, practice should be directed 
to the following slightly different aspect of vocal develop- 
ment. 

Placing the Voice. — The most casual observer unhesi- 
tatingly describes one voice as " throaty, n and another as 
" nasal. " It is obvious that all such descriptions are taken 
from the locations that determine the vocal quality. All 
may not agree as to the location of the most satisfactory 
voice. It seems, however, to possess the entire vocal 
apparatus. At one time the head tones and at another time 
the chest tones predominate. It is certain that a proper 
enlargement and shaping of the pharynx and mouth, 
together with a suitable fro?iting of the tone, is indispen- 
sable to the good voice. This gives the condition for sym- 
pathetic vibration, hence for developing that most pleasing 
quality of effective voice, — full resonance. 

3. Exercise for shaping the pharymx a?id mouth. 

(1) Stand erect, with lower jaw relaxed and falling 
(mouth open), slight gaping, diaphragmatic impulse, 



98 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

slightly prolong the syllable, "huh." The result is a full, 
unobstructed resonance. 

(2) Eliminating the technical exaggeration, but retain- 
ing the typical form and resonance, gradually transfer the 
same to any ordinary selection. 

4. Stroke of the glottis. The sluggish, thick, and sliding 
action of the vocal cords must be overcome by practice in 
their prompt action. Giving a stroke of the glottis on the 
syllable, "ung," well answers this purpose. This exercise 
is an excellent preparative to the use of the syllable, "huh." 

5. Frontmg the voice. The proper placing of the voice, 
as has been shown, involves fronting the tone. If the 
pharynx and mouth cavity are properly shaped, the tone is 
deflected to the front of the mouth-cavity, and hence is 
more skilfully converted into the different vowels and con- 
sonants. Another consequence of fronting, is the develop- 
ment of the facial or bright resonance of the voice. It 
favors also distinct enunciation. For fronting the tone, 
hum, "ing," "ng," "le," "me," "hi," "ge." Explode 
"bim, bim," etc. 

" By thirty hills I hurry down, 
Or slip between the ridges, 
By twenty thorps, a little town, 
And half a hundred bridges." 

Tennyson's Brook. 

In practice for vocal development, especially for relaxed 
or unobstructed vocal passage, the student should utilize 
the emotions which naturally contribute to this end. 
Emotions of the sublime, of tenderness and sympathy, 
favorably affect vocal development. I have found that the 
semi-confidential and sympathetic attitude toward the audi- 
ence has a decidedly good effect in overcoming the vocal 
defects enumerated. 

6. Picrity of tone. For Purity of Tone, the several exer- 
cises for support, for the stroke of the glottis and for 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 99 

fronting are directly beneficial. Carefully avoid all blowing 
and puffing, and convert all of the breath into tone. To hold 
a candle-flame in front of the mouth, and avoid blowing it 
while speaking, is a certain proof of pure tone. Practise 
selections of cheerful, ringing tones as, " Ye bells in the 
steeple," etc. 

7. For flexibility. Practise the intervals of the musical 
scale ; the word " char-coal," " cuck-oo," slowly at first, then 
rapidly, changing the pitch on each syllable. Slide, or slur, 
up, down, on syllables as, "a," " a," etc. Any pitch out of 
the range of the individual's habitual pitches is repugnant 
to the ear, and care must be taken not to allow the ear to 
dominate and restrain the voice. 

8. For strength. Practise projecting the tone to a distant 
auditor. In this, sustain the voice as in calling, " Boat, 
ahoy!" and other distant calls. Practise dynamic tones, 
striking with radical stress, and at the same time avoid sym- 
pathetically squeezing the throat. 

In work for vocal development the student must con- 
stantly keep in mind that the voice may be coaxed into 
proper conduct, but not driven, and that strength must not 
be urged beyond other qualities. But few persons, accord- 
ing to my observation, are disposed to give the necessary 
patience and time to secure the best results in vocal de- 
velopment. 

Sec. II. Kinds of Voice. — Each emotion, and the 
sets of feelings called moods, unless inhibited by volition, 
and this can be done only to a limited extent, express them- 
selves in corresponding vocal forms. The more pronounced 
of these forms we have called kinds of voice. They are 
as follows : 

1. Voice of pure tone. First, may be distinguished the 
voice in which pure tones are used. It especially utilizes 
the facial or brilliant resonance. It is a normal voice, and 
is expressive of plain thought and the emotions of the 



IOO PUBLIC SPEAKING 

intellect. Joy, cheerful and agreeable sentiments, well rep- 
resent this type. This tone is distinctly analytic. 

2. Full voice. What is here called the full voice, also 
variously called the " orotund," the " pulmonic," and the 
" chest " voice, is the deep, full, strong voice. It calls into 
use the deep or chest resonance. It, too, is a normal voice, 
and is expressive of strength, vastness, grandeur, sublimity. 
It is not analytic, but is manifestive of great masses of 
feelings. 

3. Aspirate voice. This kind of voice, as a habit, is ab- 
normal. It is the voice that does not use up all of the breath, 
and it has been condemned as a vicious quality. The whis- 
per is its exaggerated form. It is expressive of undesirable 
conditions of mind, — of secrecy, vagueness, fear, darkness, 
moral impurity. 

4. Guttural voice. This is an abnormal, throaty voice. 
It is expressive of the malevolent feelings, — of passions 
that produce the snarl, the growl, and disgust. 

Besides the kinds of voice already given, the late Profes- 
sor Monroe, after the Delsarte method, further analyzed it 
into a threefold division. Somewhat modified, these divis- 
ions are the intellective, the vital, and the affectional voice. 

1. Intellective voice. — The intellective type is charac- 
terized by high pitch, clear, hard, non-flexible tones. It uses 
head resonance. Every word is distinct and penetrative. 

This is the didactic voice. It is primarily cold and 
factive. 

The mind is discriminative ; the ideas, ultra-objective ; 
the mood, intense. 

The teacher, uninfluenced by other emotions, falls into 
the habit of this voice, and must guard against its exclusive 
use. To dull pupils, he, with all the characteristics of 
this voice heightened, says, "I will explain this point 
again, and I trust that you may understand it this time. " 
The argumentative quarreller, insisting upon his own against 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE IOI 

his opponent's facts, uses this voice. This type of voice is 
primarily expressive of thought, and is adapted to convince. 

It is not forgotten that both anger and joy sometimes 
express themselves on the high pitch with ringing voice. 
But the mental state is never exclusively intellective nor 
emotional ; so in expression, the forms are never exclusively 
appropriated to any type. It is true, however, of the in- 
tellective type that it expresses itself as we have said. It is 
characteristic. Although joy and anger may sometimes ex- 
press themselves in the high-pitched, ringing voice, it is not 
the characteristic form for all emotions. Indeed, emotions 
that so express themselves may have a large intellective 
element. Certainly this is true of the anger that employs 
this tone. It grows out of an urgency of my fact against 
your fact, as in quarrelling, or a clear differentiation of 
things that are the cause of the anger. 

2. Vital voice. — The vital voice, as a type, is the oppo- 
site of the intellective voice. It is low in pitch, strong and 
full. It uses the chest resonance, and may be degraded 
into the throaty voice. 

It is recognized as the brute voice; it is the voice of" the 
groan. Its lowest stratum is represented by the swag- 
gering bully. Notwithstanding these uncomplimentary de- 
scriptions of this type of voice, in certain forms it has a 
legitimate use. It is expressive of ideas of power, of 
strong passion, and sublime sentiments. Energy and the 
urgency of weighty matter suitably employ this voice. It is 
hortatory rather than didactic. // is expressive of strong and 
urgent passion, a?id is adapted to move the listener. 

In this characteristic voice the orator Mirabeau urges: 
" I exhort you, then, most earnestly to vote these extraordi- 
nary supplies, and God grant they may be sufficient. Vote 
then at once." 

3. Affectional Voice. — The affectional voice is char- 
acterized by medium pitch, soft, smooth, flexible tones. 



102 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

This voice is expressive of the aesthetic feelings. Senti- 
ments of kindness, sympathy, affection, and of the milder 
poetic moods, manifest themselves by its use, as do also 
plain and un impassioned thought. The affectional voice is 
adapted to persuade. 

The use of the three types of voice may be illustrated as 
follows: A father warning his youthful son against the 
folly of certain conduct, concludes with some irritation : 
" Now, the reasons for changing your conduct are as clear 
as noonday; and I trust that you will be governed accord- 
ingly, and never repeat the folly." After a repetition of the 
offence, the father, now angry, concludes an interview by 
saying, " I have argued the matter, now I warn you, James, 
that I will flog you if you do so again ! " 

But James is still incorrigible. The case is desperate. 
Arguments and threats have alike failed. The father tries 
the experiment of kinder methods. " Now, look here, my 
boy, you know how dearly we love you ; unless you change 
your conduct you will break our hearts. Let me persuade 
you to do as I wish ! " 

To express the mental states of the first interview the 
father would naturally use the intellective voice; at the 
second, the vital ; and at the third, the affectional. 

The content of scientific text-books and similar matter is 
distinctly, but not exclusively, intellective ; and is suitably 
expressed by the corresponding voice. In the same way, 
passionate orations are mainly vital, and the greater part 
of poetic sentiments affectional. As intellective, emo- 
tional, and volitional activity are always present in the 
mental content of any discourse, no hard and fast classi- 
fication of speeches according to types is possible. In 
no speech is the intellective, vital, or affectional type ex- 
clusively present. One or the other of the types may pre- 
dominate; but all will be more or less present, and in best 
literature blend in richest variety. When it comes to the 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE IO3 

divisions of the discourse, one part may be vital ; another, 
mental; and still another, affectional. 

To determine the type of any speech, as a whole or in 
part, confirm your analysis by applying each of the types 
in succession. 

To make the type clear, try the delivery of Mirabeau's 
Speech before the Senate in the affectional, intellective 
voice. Again, attempt the delivery of Alice Cary's " Order 
for a Picture" in the intellective or the vital voice. We do 
not assert that emotional expression never uses the high 
and ringing pitch, nor that kind and gentle sentiments 
never use low pitch. But that the analysis is true for the 
type is easy of verification. 

Faults. The use of the intellective {/active delivery) for 
all matter, and also the use of the vital voice in a similar 
way, are common. 

The affectional voice is oftener needed. All should aim 
to make it the habitual voice, rising to the intellectual, and 
broadening and strengthening to the vital when necessary. 

Sec. III. Inflection. — By inflection is meant the slide 
of the voice from one pitch to another. It includes slides 
and circumflexes. When the tone slides from a lower to 
a higher pitch, it is called a rising slide ; when from a 
higher to a lower, it is called a falling slide. The distance 
of the slide may be a semitone, or any number of tones to 
the limit of the individual's range of pitch. Besides the 
simple up and down slides, the tone may, without any 
break, slide up and then down, or the reverse. In the 
former case it is known as a falling, and in the latter as 
a rising circumflex. 

Monotone, or the absence of slides, is an aspect of 
inflection. 

Inflection is expressive of emotion. As inflection is prima- 
rily expressive of emotion, it is consequently an element 
of force. It manifests the feeling that accompanies the 



104 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

thought. " It was not what he said, but the way he said 
it," is a frequent tribute to the power of inflection. 

Principles of Inflection. — I. The rising slide is pro- 
spective. While the emotions are on-going, — that is, while 
there is the feeling of incomplete idea, — the rising slide 
is used. 

i. Rising tones appeal: — 

(i) To bespeak attention to something that follows, as 
completing a statement. 

(2) For solution of doubt. 

(3) For the expression of the hearer's will, as in response 
to a proposition. 

(4) To question the possibilities of an assertion, as in 
surprise. 

(5) Rising tones are deferential. 

II. The falling slide is retrospective. When the emotions 
have rested, — that is, when there is the feeling of the com- 
pleted idea, — the falling slide is used. 

2. Falling tones assert : — 

(1) To express completion of statement. 

(2) To express conviction. 

(3) To express the speaker's will, as in command, refusal, 
or contradiction. 

(4) To express impossibility of denial. 

(5) Falling tones are peremptory. 

III. The circumflexes ci7-e compound in their meaning, 
partaking of the character of the rising and falling, or of the 
falling and rising tone; these, then, are querulous-assertive 
or assertive-querulous. 

Circumflexes, partaking of the nature both of the rising 
and falling slide, are used: — 

(1) When the emotions are unsettled, as in mental 
perplexity. 

(2) In double meanings, as in sarcasm, scorn, etc. 

(3) In conscious insincerity, as when a man of trade 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 105 

recommends for purchase some article with concealed 
defect. His conscience and will opposing each other puts 
the circumflex in the voice. 

(4) In wheedling and flattery ; there is insincerity, too, 
in this; in complimentary, comfort-making, and coaxing 
moods. 

IV. Monotone is reflective. It is expressive of the sub- 
lime and allied sentiments of grandeur, awfulness, rever- 
ence, etc. The mind is not discriminative. 

V. Semitone is expressive of the plaintive emotions. It is 
used in grief, sorrow, etc. 

VI. The length of a slide is determined by the strength 
and intensity of the feeling. 

A chart of the various slides corresponding to their emo- 
tions is impossible 5 and were it possible, I do not see 
how it could be of practical value. The slides, and all that 
constitute the tune of the speech, are even more elusive 
than the feelings of which they are expressive. 

Faults. — I have noted the following faults as more or 
less common. 

(1) Habitual rising slides. These keep the audience in 
continual suspense, and give no rest. We have heard 
ministers who closed almost all positively constructed sen- 
tences with the upward slide. 

(2) Habitual downward slides. These are tiresome ; for 
the listening mind instinctively rests at the downward slide, 
when lo ! it must up and on, for the thought is not com- 
pleted. Such delivery is humdrum and tiresome, and heavy 
in the extreme. 

(3) Habitual circumflex. This inflection lacks force and 
dignity. 

(4) Habitual semitones or mi?iors, 

(5) Beginning the rising inflection too high, the falling 
too low. 

Practice. — (1) Use the exercises as given under " Flex- 
ibility of voice." 



106 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

(2) Train the ear to detect the various inflections. In 
many persons the ear resists any effort to depart from ha- 
bitual inflections. 

(3) Cultivate the ability to mechanically give the inflec- 
tions at will. 

(4) These faulty habits are due generally to the moods 
of the speaker. Of course, then, it is of fundamental im- 
portance to attack the moods. Only those who have had 
the fault, or who have taught Public Speaking, know how 
persistent is the minor or circumflex habit. It is hardly 
necessary to add that only by means of the emotions, real- 
ized through the ideas, can the various slides be suitably 
given. 

Sec. IV. Rhythm. — The alternate pulsation and re- 
mission with its attendant flow, well marked in pleasing 
delivery both of prose and verse, are due to the rhythm of 
speech. In other words, rhythm in speech refers to the 
periodic recurrence of groups of sounds. 

It is the nature of the mind, in listening to a series of 
sounds, even when of uniform loudness and length, to reduce 
them to groups. A familiar instance of this is the alternate 
loud and soft sounds attributed to the ticking clock. If one 
sound of a series be actually louder or longer, and regularly 
recurrent, the tendency to grasp sounds into groups is pro- 
moted, and the gratification of rhythm fully realized. This 
grouping is actually done in English speech-rhythms, and 
is mainly accomplished by means of increased loudness or 
accent at approximately regular intervals ; * but the accent, 
as Poe long since pointed out, lengthens the sound of the 
syllables, so that the rhythm-groups in English are usually 
doubly marked off, by accent and by length of sound. 

Moreover, the periodicity of the recurrent group is main- 
tained when silence takes up a part of the group. 

l See Rhythm, by J. B. Mayor. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 107 

Nursery rhymes, as Mr. Sidney Lanier has well shown, 
furnish familiar instances of this. The first line of the 
following quotation from Tennyson sufficiently illustrates 
the fact : — 

Break, | break, | break | 

On thy cold, | grey stones, | oh sea | 
And I would | that my tongue | could utter | 

The thoughts | that arise in me. j 

Pausing after " break, " each group or bar is co-ordinated 
with every other group. 

In the Journal of Psychology for January, 1894, Mr. T. 
L. Bolton describes some elaborate psychological experi- 
ments made in the study of rhythm, from which among 
others he deduced the following general principles: — 

" Rhythmic effects when applied to poetry demand that the 
accents in a line shall recur at regular intervals ; they also require 
that the succeeding feet in a line shall be of precisely the same 
character. The introduction of a three-syllable foot into iambic 
(two-syllable) verse is allowable on this condition only, — that the 
three-syllable foot can be read in the same time as the two-syl- 
lable, so that there shall be no disturbance in the temporal 
sequence of the accents." 

English rhythms are not chanted, but conform to the 
idiomatic, spoken form of the language. They are spon- 
taneous and free. Hence, any attempt to give direction for 
the scansion of English rhythm must be based, not upon the 
appearance of the printed page, but upon the sound as 
heard. 1 Theories that demand a pause where no pause is 
logically or emotionally required, that demand an accent 
on words that are not accented in ordinary speech, and 
that require that an accented syllable be treated as though 

1 See On Rhythm in English Verse, in Papers of Fleming Jenkins : Long- 
mans, Green, & Co.. 1SS7. 



108 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

it were not accented, wholly misapprehend the nature of 
English rhythm. 

For applying the principles involved in English rhythm, 
the following hints are given : — 

i. Read according to the idioms of spoken English. 
Avoid changing the accent to accommodate the meter, or 
pausing to mark the separated foot. 

2. Run through the selection to find out the prevailing 
foot-group. These groups will co-ordinate with one an- 
other. 

3. Note exceptional foot-groups that may not be of the 
prevailing type. To illustrate, trochees, dactyls, and other 
feet will often be found among groups that are typically 
iambic. 

4. The time of the exceptional foot-group must con- 
form to the time of the prevailing or typical foot-group of 
the line. If, for instance, it is an anapaest, it must be 
read in the time given to the iambic, if this is the prevail- 
ing foot. 

5. The so-called extra syllable at the beginning or end 
of the line is to be regarded as part of a foot-group of 
which a pause forms the remaining part. If the extra syl- 
lable is accented, pause forms the unaccented part of the 
group. If the extra syllable, however, is unaccented, the 
mind attributes accents to the pause in much the same 
way that it attributes the alternate loud or accented sound 
to the ticking clock. Filling out the group by means of 
pause takes place also often in other parts of the line. 
This frequently gives an extra group to the line. Again, 
sometimes the sound of a syllable is prolonged to fill out 
the time of the group. 

6. The essential fact is the co-ordination of group with 
group ; this requires that the group have one and only one 
accent. The beat or stroke must be firmly placed on the 
accented syllable. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE IO9 

7. Observe that for ordinary ears slight variations do 
not destroy the effect of rhythm, and that the introduction 
of exceptional feet gives an agreeable variety, and in this 
way furthers poetic expression. Variability within certain 
limits obtains also in the line-group or verse. 

Verses or Lines. — Rhythmical delivery requires the 
co-ordination of line with line; that is, that the line be 
given the same time as that with which it corresponds. 
The time length, and not the number of syllables, is the 
determining factor. The rhyming words also aid in mark- 
ing off the line-group. The rhythmical ear, however, is 
the main reliance. 

In spite of all theories, the pausing in the delivery of 
verse must be according to the logical requirements, and not 
the exigencies of the line. Run-on lines are to be spoken 
as such. If the poet has not composed his lines so as to 
require the middle and final pause, it does violence to lan- 
guage to force it. A speaker, however, will pause without 
doing violence to the thought, when the dull-eared, con- 
trolled only by the logical relations, will not. Reading 
run-on lines without pause at the end of the line amounts 
to this : it introduces a line-group of exceptional length. 
This feature is agreeable rather than otherwise. 

Many persons are deficient in the rhythmical sense. To 
cultivate this sense it will be found decidedly helpful to 
scan verse according to the principles here laid down. For 
practice, while omitting any decided effort to read for ex- 
pression, and still speaking the phrase idiomatically, exag- 
gerate the rhythmical flow. In this practice the reader need 
not be afraid of ''sing-song,' 7 for " sing-song " is a matter 
of melody and not rhythm. 

Rhythmical Prose. — Because of the allowable irregu- 
larities of blank verse, it is difficult to distinguish it from 
prose. The difference is one of degree only. Mr. Lanier 
calls prose " a wild variety of verse." To make but one 



1 10 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

quotation, the co-ordinations and rhythmical character of 
the folio 1 
age ear : ■ 



the following sentence from Ruskin is obvious to the aver- 



" There is a saying 

which is in all good men's mouths 

namely, 

that they are stewards, 

or ministers, 

of whatever talents are entrusted to them." 

Sec. V. Melody of Speech. — In impressions of 
Rhythm, we simply regard the succession of sounds in 
time, without regard to change of pitch. In Melody, or 
tune, however, we are impressed by a set of successive 
tones varying in pitch. 

Every language and dialect has its own tunes, that are as 
fundamental and expressive as its words and grammatical 
forms. The part that tune plays as revelatory of thought, 
is most marked in the Chinese language, but is not un- 
known in English. For example, some soldiers are said 
to have killed some badly wounded prisoners by cutting 
off their heads. It was said afterward, that " if they had 
not they would have died." Read with a rising circum- 
flex on u not" and the falling circumflex on " died," and 
the sentence implies that the prisoners lives were saved 
by cutting off their heads. Now read with a downward 
slide on "not" and also on "died, " and the sentence 
means that death was inevitable anyway. 

When we ask a question, using the words, " Who did yoa 
say he was? " the rising slide is used; but when we say, 
" Who is he? " the falling slide is used. The melody of 
the two otherwise differs. Compare the Irish dialectic way 
of asking the question. 

Melody or tunes are, however, primarily expressive of 
feelings. Every emotion has its own melody. There is 
the melody of joy, of sorrow, of interrogation, of affir- 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE I I 1 

mation; and so on through the whole range of feelings. 
Melody of speech is elusive. We feel its force, and say, 
" It was not what he said, but the way he said it; " l but 
cannot reproduce the impression. No symbols can ever 
adequately reproduce a melody of emotion. Melody is 
the life of soeech. It is expressive of the speaker's indi- 
viduality. It is intuitive, subtle, irresistible. 

Mr. Lanier maintained that the impossibility of repro- 
ducing melodies of speech is owing to the limitation of the 
musical scale. The least interval of the scale is a half-tone, 
whereas speech tones involve shades of a tenth of a tone, or 
finer. However this may be, trustworthy musicians say 
that no two trained persons read in just the same way what 
purports to be written melodies of speech. 

Intuition and imitation, it seems to me, are the main 
reliance in reproducing speech-melodies. Some general 
characteristics may be given. 

Unsuppressed joy expresses itself in high pitch and widely 
varying, pure tones. Pity uses minor tones. The sublime 
and awful incline to the low pitch and monotone. Malevo- 
lence and anger use staccato. Tenderness employs gentle 
force — medium to low pitch, sustained tones. Bombast 
expresses itself in full, slow tones, circumflexed ; gravity, 
in slow, moderate force, simple slides. 

Key. — Melody involves the key, or central tone. Each 
emotion has it own key. 

Faults of Melody. — i. The recurrent melody. This is 
identified as "sing-song." This is a very common fault. 

2. The habitual use of the minor slide. This is the pa- 
thetic tone. 

3. The circumflex fault. This lacks the manly, clear-cut 
tone. 

1 " Using cadence in an unusually extended sense, as comprehending all 
modifications of the voice, we may say that cadence is the commentary of the 
emotions upon the propositions of the intellect." — Herbert Spencer's 
Origin and Function of Music, p. 379. 



112 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

4. The monotone. 

5. The "drift" of one emotion. In this, the speaker falls 
into a certain heavy swing, and, ignoring the variety of 
thought and feeling, " drifts " along on certain uniformities. 
Akin to this is a more pauseful, but still heavy, delivery. 

6. Light or flippant melody. 

7. Key on too high a pitch, and again on too low a pitch. 
The former involves a high, nervous strain ; the latter 
induces throatiness and indistinctness. 

In order to eliminate faulty melody, the student and 
teacher must rely mainly upon the subjective treatment, 
that is, upon a mastery of the content. It will usually 
require a teacher to locate the fault. 

Narrow, emotional states, habitual to the speaker, must 
be broken up; and the mind be made susceptible of new 
emotions. The mind must be aroused, and made attentive 
and discriminating. 

Sec. VI. Stress. — Stress is the way force is applied to 
the tone. 

If applied abruptly it is called radical stress, as in ex- 
ploding " Arm ! " "arm!" This is a serviceable stress in 
prompt and strong utterance, and should be clearly recog- 
nized and mastered. 

Medium Stress opens with moderate force, swells to more 
force, and then diminishes. It corresponds to the swell in 
music. 

This stress makes use of the long quantity of the vowel. 
It produces smooth and flexible tones. It is the second 
most serviceable stress. "O precious word! " 

Terminal stress is the opposite of radical. It is the growl. 
"Here I stand and scoff you." 

Thorough stress continues the force equally from beginning 
to close. It is used in placing the voice off to a distant 
point, and in calling, as in "Boat, ahoy! " It is a feature 
of the declamatory style. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE II3 

Intermittent Stress corresponds to tremolo in music. Fre- 
quently speakers try to speak impressively by the use of 
this stress. Its proper use is very limited. 

Sec. VII. Loudness. — This term explains itself. Its 
uses are rather obvious, and little need be said upon it. 
The speaker should avoid the extremes of feeble force on 
the one hand, and of noisiness on the other. This is a point 
at which reserved force may well be looked after. Always 
feel competent to speak with loud force, but restrain the 
effort and modify the degree to the emotions involved. 
Vociferation and declamation is as empty as it is loud. 
The degrees range from gentle and moderate to loud and very 
loud. In their use "let your own discretion be your tutor." 

Sec. VIII. Time or Rate. — Time refers to the rapidity 
or slowness of the delivery. It is primarily determined by 
the feelings, hence is first of all an element of force. Four 
degrees of rate are noted : (1) Quick rate, expressive of rapid 
movements, lightness, slurred matter, cheerfulness, joy, etc. 
(2) Moderate rate, used in simple narrative, etc. (3) Slow 
rate, expressive of slow movements, weighty matters, sor- 
rowful sentiments, obscure ideas, profound feelings, etc. 
(4) Very slow rate, expressive of ponderous, labored move- 
ments, of very solemn, weighty matter, of grave sentiments, 
of sublime emotions, etc. 

THE BEGINNING REQUIRES SLOW TIME. 

At the beginning of the speech, the listener is preoccupied 
with other ideas ; hence the speaker must be distinct, and by 
slowness give time to change the train of thought. Then, 
too, the speaker himself is more or less preoccupied with 
thoughts about the audience, about himself, and many other 
things. He requires time to collect himself in order to 
fully concentrate his mind upon the proposed ideas. Then, 
too, the enunciatory and other functions are dormant, and 
must be quickened. 



114 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

Once again, as the emotional parts of the content prima- 
rily determine the rate of utterance, these must have time 
to mature, and so to quicken the rate. The emotion must 
wait upon the idea ; and this requires time. For similar 
reasons, after each transition the rate must be slower ; and 
the more divergent the succeeding groups, the slower the 
rate after each change. 

Faults. — Most beginners speak too rapidly, but slow 
down with experience. Rate is relative to the individual as 
well as to the matter. It is conceded that some persons can 
well speak more rapidly than others ; but every beginner 
may suspect himself of trying to speak too fast. Since de- 
livery, when too rapid, mars the enunciation, and confuses 
the phrasing or grouping, it seriously interferes with the in- 
telligibility of the speech. While prompt and ready utter- 
ance suggests a certain kind of mastery, it must not be for- 
gotten that word-fluency is not eloquence. 

On the other hand, dull, slow, dragging utterance, and 
that over-pauseful delivery, holding on to the final syllable, 
and sometimes ending with an " ugh," though not so com- 
mon, is equally bad. 

In overcoming both hasty and tardy utterance, main de- 
pendence is to be placed in the will. This ability, however, 
is not commanded at a moment's notice, but is the result of 
discipline. 

Variability of rate follows, of course, the emotional move- 
ments of the content. 

Sec. IX. Climax. — Climax refers to a heightening of 
the delivery. The most obvious elements of this heighten- 
ing are ascending pitch, increased loudness and rate, cul- 
minating, generally, with the radical stress. As climax is 
expressive of emotional growth, it is plainly another element 
of force. 

Growth is a well-defined characteristic of all emotion. 
For instance, the angry man grows more angry as he dwells 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE I I 5 

upon the idea calling it forth; and one grows more tender 
by dwelling upon its idea. The same law of growth applies 
to groups of emotions as contained in the paragraph or 
other unities of the speech, and to the composition as a 
whole. The emotions connected with these several groups, 
and with the whole, gradually mature, or are more and more 
realized by the speaker, till they reach this highest point, 
and then subside. Climax expresses this growth. The 
counterpart of this growth is the ascending importance of 
the ideas. Climax in delivery follows the rhetorical climax 
of the composition. 

Faults. The faults of climax readily suggest themselves, 
as climaxing too soon, too late, or not at all. Every speaker 
should guard against the dead level of one emotional drift. 
The emotions and their growth must be realized. 

The se?itence usually, but not invariably, begins on a lower, 
proceeds to a higher, and then returns to a lower pitch. Some 
sentences give exceptional opportunity for climax. To 
illustrate, begin the following sentence on a very low pitch, 
and gradually rise till the word "devil" reaches a very 
high pitch, and gradually descend from this word. 

" O, you and I have heard our fathers say 

There was a Brutus once that would have brooked 

Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 

As easily as a king." 

J s Shakespeare. 

Sec. X. Imitative Modulation. — According to the 
onomata-poetic organ of language, imitation of the appear- 
ances and sound of objects lies at the beginning of all 
speech. With the theory we have nothing to do here. It 
is obvious, however, that we now reproduce the idea, and 
make it more varied by imitating the sound. For instance, 
the roar of the ocean, the boom of cannon, the hiss of the 
snake, the rushing wind, if only slightly imitated, aid in 
recalling the idea. So, also, vocally, the hugeness and 



Il6 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

littleness of objects, the rapidity or slowness of a move- 
ment, may be represented. 

A conservative use of this element adds force to the 
delivery; but overdone, it " out-Herods Herod." 

Sec. XI. Gesture. — Although gesture is subordinate to 
voice as a mode of expression, it still has a value; and even 
conservatives may well attend to its development and use. 
As indicating its universality and naturalness, Sir Charles 
Bell says, " Man does not depend upon articulate language 
alone; there is the language of expression, a mode of com- 
munication understood equally by all mankind all over the 
globe, not conventional or confined to nations, but used by 
infants before speech, and by untutored savages." 1 

Moreover, the effectiveness of gestures is enhanced by the 
fact that they are directly and instantaneously expressive, 
as compared with speech, which is analytic and successive, 
spoken by letters, syllables, words, phrases, sentences. A 
motion toward the door shows the indignation, and gives 
the order to go more forcibly than any number of words 
that could be spoken. 

Gesture, in this treatise, includes all significant move- 
ments of the body, including facial expression. 

Why is the body expressive in the way in which we find 
it ? The psychologists have not yet agreed upon an answer 
to this question; and although it is mainly a speculative 
one, it is worth the while to look at some of the more rep- 
utable theories. 

Darwin, after an extensive study, treats the subject in his 
volume on the " Expression of Emotion in Man and Ani- 
mals," and deduces three principles. 

i. Serviceable Associated Habit. Certain actions are ori- 
ginated because of their serviceableness; for instance, in 
accordance with his evolutionary hypothesis, in extreme 
rage the upper lip is drawn up exposing the canine teeth, 

1 Anatomy and Physiology of Expression. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 117 

This originated when it was serviceable to the animal while 
biting its antagonist. The spasmodic movement of the 
fingers in anger is a relic of the beast clutching and claw- 
ing at its prey. 

" Whenever the same state of mind is induced, however 
feebly, there is a tendency, through the force of habit and 
association, for the same movements to be performed, 
whether or not of service in each particular case/"' 

2. Antithetic action. Certain acts, as has been shown, 
are serviceable. 

" Now, when a directly opposite state of mind is induced, 
there is a strong and involuntary tendency to the perform- 
ance of movements of a directly opposite nature, though 
these are of no use ; and such movements are, in some cases, 
highly expressive." The angry dog enlarges his size to 
appear formidable ; the whipped, humbled dog reduces his 
size, and skulks. 

3. Action resulting from the constitution of the nervous sys- 
tem, independent of the will, and to a certain extent in- 
dependent of habit, as trembling, loss of color, etc. When 
the brain is excited strongly, nerve force is generated in 
excess, and is transmitted in certain definite directions; for 
instance, reddening of the face in rage, and perspiration in 
grief and pain. 

Sir Charles Bell holds that the expression of the body 
exhibits the design of the Creator. He has shown how 
intimately the vital organs, the heart and lungs especially, 
are united to each other and to the muscles of the neck, 
face, and chest, by a system of nerves. He has also shown 
how 7 they are affected by the emotions of the mind, and says, 
" Thus the frame of the body, constituted for the support of 
the vital functions, becomes the instrument of expression; 
and an extensive class of passions, by influencing the heart, 
by affecting that sensibility which governs the muscles of 
respiration, calls them into operation, so that they become 



I I 8 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

an undeviating mark of certain states or conditions of the 
mind. They are the organs of expression." 

The following principles given by Wundt are more sug- 
gestive, and more available in expressional practice. 

i. Principles of analagous associated feelings. Feelings of a 
similar emotional tone are easily connected; and when con- 
nected, the expression of one is transferred to the other. 
One expression, for instance, follows the tasting of sweet, 
and another of sour,. and another of bitter substances. Now, 
all experiences, however ideal in their nature, possess a 
tone analagous to that of sweet taste, etc. ; and hence they 
naturally express themselves by the same external sign. 

2. Principles of the relation of movements to sense ideas. 
When we speak of persons or objects that are present, we 
point to them; when absent, in their direction; then we un- 
consciously imitate their shape, and measure their size by 
movements of the hand. 

The Nature of Gesture. — Gestures are mainly expres- 
sive of emotion, and hence contribute primarily to force. 
They are physical movements or reactions against both real 
and imaginary objects. Gestures that seem to be the most 
subjective can generally be traced ultimately to emotional 
reactions against things that have affected the senses. 
Some of the gestures that come under Mr. Darwin's third 
principle are exceptions. If a person points to an imagi- 
nary spire, it is. because he is moved by a feeling of its 
loftiness or of its distance. 

Gestures of anger are reactions that arise with reference 
to some imaginary object of the anger. Gestures of aver- 
sion, of endearment, of resignation, of pride, of arrogance, 
and so on, arise in the same way. r 

Subjective Gestures. — Most gestures are expressive 
of subjective conditions, and are made without special 
intention toward the audience. They represent moods, 
dispositions, and passing emotions. They grow out of the 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE II9 

feelings, and are less purposeful than other gestures. Ges- 
tures, representative of personal states (joy, fear, sadness), 
and also many dramatic gestures, may be placed under this 
head. 

Picture-making Gestures. — In a secondary way, ges- 
tures grow out of a desire to make the ideas or objects of 
the mind plain to the auditor. They are illustrative, just 
as the pictures and maps of the book or daily newspaper are 
illustrative. Gestures of this objective type, and pictures, 
have a common motive. Under picture-making gesture 
two distinct classes are formed. 

1. Gestures of location. The function of this gesture is 
to point out the place of the imaginary object in space and 
in time. Objects in space are represented as far or near, 
high or low. Objects in time are referred to the present, 
past, or future. They point out the direction of absent 
persons or things. 

2. Descriptive gestures. Akin to the locative is another 
illustrative use of gesture, giving rise to what are called 
Plastic or Descriptive gestures. In this use, some salient 
feature or features of the object are represented. Its 
length, height, weight, or some other feature, is suggested. 

This class includes also gestures reproducing the physical 
acts of another, and gestures representing motions both as to 
direction and rate. 

Laws of Gesture. — The following general principles 
in one form or another are usually attributed to the so- 
called Delsarte system. 

1. The attitude or bearing indicates the total self. The erect 
attitude, with easily lifted chest, free, easy carriage, well- 
poised bearing, is expressive of strength, culture, grace, 
preparation, and favorably affects vitality and control. 
The bent form, and shambling or awkward movement, sug- 
gest feebleness, lack of control, lack of preparedness. The 
attitude and bearing are of primary importance in all gesture. 



120 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

2. Chest-centre. This law, an aspect of the preceding one, 
makes the chest the centre of action. It utilizes the space 
in front of the body, and avoids side movements of the arm. 

3. Buoyancy. The law of elasticity or strength demands 
that the gesture be made on a higher plane, instead of al- 
lowing gravity to drag down the body and arms. 

4. Economy. According to the law of economy, every 
movement of the speaker should be purposeful and signifi- 
cant. Economy prevents habitual movements, pacing to 
and fro, wild swinging of the arms, and other movements 
that are meaningless for the purpose at hand. This law 
is a particular aspect of the specialization of function. 

5. Grace. Curved movements are graceful. The prin- 
ciple of succession contributing to grace, means that the 
gesture flows from the centre. Gestures, of the arms espe- 
cially, are all related to the chest. In referring to the 
spire of a church, for instance, to stiffen the arm, or to 
lift all of it simultaneously, violates this principle of 
grace. Instead, when properly done, the hand is brought 
in front near the chest; the arm gradually unfolds till the 
hand points to the spire, palm down. In this, the move- 
ment is flexible, and without muscular tension. 

6. Evolution. The expression centres in the eye, first 
manifests itself there, and then radiates to the extremities 
of the body. The pugilist watches his antagonist's eyes 
instead of his fists; for the purpose and direction of the 
blow first manifests itself there. 

7. Symbolization. According to this principle, one can 
treat ideas as he treats material objects. In this case, 
ideas are symbolized. A cube of wood may be employed. 
The hand beneath it, palm up, supports the block; but on 
the top it crushes it down ; edged in front, it protects it ; at 
the side, limits or defines ; removed from beneath, refuses 
support, and it falls; a movement against it overthrows it. 
The hand, in the same positions or movements, not only 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 121 

appropriately, but naturally, expresses the same attitude 
or action toward ideas. 

8. Sequence. Gesture precedes or accompanies the spoken 
word. "My Lord Northumberland, we license your depar- 
ture with your son." Just before or while uttering the 
word " departure " make a strong and rapid movement or 
wafture of the hand toward the door, signifying, depart 
immediately. Make the same gesture while or after pro- 
nouncing the word "son, " and mark the difference. 

9. Velocity. The rapidity of a movement is inversely 
proportionate to the mass moved. A trifling matter is 
tossed off with a quick movement; but "up the high hill 
he heaves a huge round stone," is labored and slow. 
Gesture, representing motion, corresponds to the rate of the 
motion represented. 

10. Opposition. In making a movement of two parts of 
the body in gesture, each part should move in an opposite 
direction, or else a parallelism is perpetrated. To illus- 
trate: If in salutation, the hand be lifted near the face, 
and the arm, body, and all together, be moved forward in 
bowing, we have a parallelism. If, however, while inclin- 
ing the head and body, we lift the hands, the movements 
between these parts are in opposition; then, moving the 
head back to the erect position, we toss the hand out and 
down in opposition. 

11. Suavity and Vehemence. Tender, kind emotions ex- 
press themselves in curved movements. Over-excitement, 
"nervousness," and malevolent emotions express them- 
selves in angular gestures. Romeo's gestures are curved; 
Shy lock's are angular. 

Faults. — The faults of gesture are the violations of the 
principles already given. 

Praxis. — I fear that a disproportionate amount of time 
is frequently given to gesture. I am convinced, also, that 
the best results follow a restriction of the work to a few 



& 



122 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

leading features. First, take suitable exercises for breakin 
up the tension or rigidity of the muscles. Secondly, prac- 
tise a few typical gestures of the objective type; and thirdly, 
let the gestures come in connection with the speaking, and 
then criticise them. The aim of all practice is to secure 
spontaneous, graceful, and significant gesture. 

Preparatory Relaxing Exercises. — The first effort 
of the student in this connection should be directed to free 
the arms, in short, the whole body, from all rigidity; to 
destroy habitual movements by counteracting exercises and 
general development. Then the body is prepared to respond 
to the action of the mind. Only the parts involved at the 
time should be used. The passive or elastic condition 
should be the prevailing one. 

i. Dangle the hands, and shake the arms freely from the 
shoulder, up and down, whirling in, then out ; now rotate 
the body on the hip-joints, letting the arms and hands fly 
whither they may, while rotating the body. 

2. Lift the main arm until the elbow is level with the 
shoulder. Shake it back and forth, letting the forearm 
dangle to the very finger-tips. 

3. (1) Slowly lift the arm extended forward up as high 
as the level of the head, then down, the back of the wrist 
leading while moving up, the face of the wrist leading down, 
while the fingers trail. Take care to make the movements 
from the shoulder easy and flowing. 

(2) Make this same movement; hands level with the 
shoulders in bringing them near together in front ; then 
out till extended from the sides. Continue these; first (1), 
then (2). 

In these movements, command a steady body, and feel 
balanced with the " sea-poise," as though buoyed up by a 
surrounding element. 

4. Practise any exercise that will give suppleness to the 
limbs. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE I 23 

In all these movements avoid muscular rigidity. Let 
the mind be easy, else the mental constraint will sympa- 
thetically affect the muscles. 

5. Combination movement. Slowly lift the arm extended 
in front, the fingers dangling or trailing; when the hand is 
level with the eye, hold and sight over the thumb to an 
object on the wall ; hold in this position, and depress the 
wrist ; the open palm is now from you, imagine a ball 
against the palm, turn the hand out around this imaginary 
ball, now the fingers are depressed and palm up and out ; 
fold the fingers on the palm, beginning with the little 
finger. We now have the half fist (thumb unfolded). Fold 
this half fist upon the forearm, the forearm on the main 
arm. Let the half fist dip in and down, the elbow moving 
up in opposition. Now unfold the arm, palm down, ex- 
tending with a final thrust, fingers straightened. 

This movement educates the movement of the hand and 
arm in preparing for a gesture, and also combines move- 
ments found in many gestures. It also educates the muscles 
to nicety and precision of action. 

In this combination, there are at least eight distinct move- 
ments. These may be resolved into three general move- 
ments, the preparation in lifting, the folding in, and the 
folding out. The latter is spiral. 

All the above exercises should be practised, first by the 
right, then by the left arm and hand, and then by both. 

Cultivate muscular consciousness. When the hands are 
passive by the sides, we feel their weight. 

The criteria in the series to follow will give opportunity 
to carry out this same principle* of freeing the body, and 
educating the muscles to perform the most commonly used 
expressions. 

As the corresponding emotions are associated with their 
appropriate expression, these criteria will have the additional 
advantage of the constructive element in their practice. 



124 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

First Series. — i. Presentation or Revelation. In this ges- 
ture, the hand is at first partially closed, easily held in front 
as high as the waist, and is then extended front, slightly 
oblique. One or both hands may be used. " Let us look at 
this," illustrates the type of which this gesture is expressive. 

2. Extensive, or Universal reference. Arm, or arms, start- 
ing in front of chest, extended level with the shoulder, palm 
up, slightly oblique. "As wide as the world,' ' " From one 
extreme to the other,' 5 give examples of extensive reference. 

3. Definition. Both hands brought in front, palms facing 
each other, separated from one to two feet. " We are shut 
up to this/' illustrates this type. 

4. Near reference. Arm easily thrown forward, half oblique, 
palm exposed. " There it is before you in plain sight," gives 
this type. 

5. Far reference. Hand extended level with the shoulder, 
side oblique, palm down, fingers straightened. " And I on 
the opposite shore will be," affords an example. 

6. Distant future. Arm extended front, level with the 
shoulder, palm of hand down. 

7. Distant past. Arm extended to the rear, oblique, level 
with shoulders, palm of hand down. "The opportunity is 
gone forever." 

8. Far reference, lofty. Arm extended, angle about forty- 
five degrees, palm of hand down, index finger prominent. 
Type : " Hang a lantern aloft." 

9. Aspiration, or elevated affirmation. In this, the hands 
are thrown up, nearly overhead, palms to speaker. " Let us 
look up full of hope and courage/' illustrates this type. 

All of these gestures suggest, if they do not fully reach, 
the chest as their starting-point. These and the succeed- 
ing series should be practised till they become spontaneous. 

Second Series. — The following series is mainly oratori- 
cal in character. 

1. Repulsion. In repulsion, the hand is lifted, palm out, 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE 125 

thumb near the ear. It is then shoved out straight in front, 
while the head moves back in opposition. " Avaunt, and 
quit my sight ! " 

2. Attraction is the opposite of repulsion. " Hark ! " 

3. Supplication. In supplication, the arm is lifted to 
heaven, the hand open, and held half horizontal. Do not 
hold the arm immediately in front. " Our Father." 

4. Appellation. In appellation, the forearm is lifted per- 
pendicular, the palm of the hand out. Voting gesture : 
" Aye." 

5. Affirmation. In this gesture the hand is thrown down 
in front, the palm out. [He] " would have brooked the eter- 
nal devil." 

6. Salutation. The hand is raised gracefully, the head 
inclining to meet it ; after they have approached near each 
other, the hand is thrown gently forward, the head moving in 
opposition. The hand is lifted in proportion to the amount 
of deference or respect expressed. Common salutation of 
men who are equals is frequently made by a wafture of the 
hand from the lower part of the chest. " Good-morning." 

7. Negation. The arm is thrown across the space in front 
of the student toward the back, the palm down. " This can 
never be." 

8. Declaration. This is the same movement, with the palm 
of the hand half up. "The North answers the South." 

9. Rejection. This is the same as negation, with the 
thumb down. " Sweep away all opposition." 

Third Series. — The gestures in the third series are 
mainly dramatic ; but as they give added variety, their prac- 
tice is helpful in oratory. 

1. Calm repose. This is the natural, easy position with 
arms quiet by the side. 

2. Resigned appeal to heaven. In this action the arm 
without lifting is turned face out, the hand is turned palm 
slightly up; the face is turned in opposition, and uplifted 
to heaven. 



126 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

3. Accusation. In accusation, the arm is stiffened at the 
side; the eye first accuses and centres upon the object, then 
the stiffened arm and hand are lifted till the eye sees the 
object down the arm. 

4. Imprecation. The arm is elevated overhead. The 
hand is formed into a claw, ready as a bird of prey to 
pounce upon its victim. 

5. Remorse. The hand grasps the back of the head, 
forearm pressing against the face. 

6. Grief or shame. The face is hidden by spreading 
the hand over it. 

7. Tender reproach. Hand slightly closed, drawn across 
the chest away from the object, while the face is turned 
upon it in reproach. 

8. Pathetic repulsion. To express this emotion, the hand 
moves toward the object from the seventh position, while 
the head moves in the opposite direction. 

9. Benediction. In benediction, the hands are lifted, 
the backs up, extended front. 

10. Petition. Excepting that the palms are turned up, 
the positions in petition are the same as in benediction. 

The Chest in Expression. — 1. In excitement, courage, the 
sense of vigor, the chest is expanded. In timidity, anxiety, pain, 
conscious weakness, the chest is contracted. In repose, the chest is 
erect and normal. 

2. /;/ reflection, the chest bends forward. 

3. In sublimity, the chest is broadened and lifted. 

4. In attack, or vehemence, the chest is expanded, broadened, 
and brought forward. 

5. In despair, the chest is flattened. 

6. The body leaning directly before an object indicates defer- 
ence. 

7. The body leaning obliquely toward object indicates reverence. 

8. The body leaning back shows pride. 

9. The body leaning sidewise is the attitude of wickedness ; it 
is fox-like. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE I2J 

Positions. — In physical and moral weakness, the gravity of the 
earth beneath draws the body down. The gestures are made on a 
lower plane. 

In spiritual or moral exaltation the body is lifted, and gesture is 
made on a higher plane. 

The Feet and Legs in Expression. — Conscious weakness as- 
sumes strong position, as in the case of the aged, infirm, and in 
children, placing their feet far apart in standing and walking. 
Conscious strength assumes weak positions, as in the case of ath- 
letes and other strong persons keeping their feet nearer together. 

Gravities. Three centres of gravity are to be distinguished. 
The weight upon the heels indicates the subjective state of mind : 
the weight upon the balls of the feet indicates the objective state 
of mind — a reaching out to the auditor; the weight upon the 
centre indicates hesitance and balance. 

First attitude. In this attitude, the weight is upon both feet, 
separated by a few inches, and the toes turned out at an angle of 
75 ; . Tins is a weak attitude. It characterizes respect. If the 
feet be far separated, the expression is physical weakness, inso- 
lence, familiar ease, vulgar repose, intoxication. 

Second attitude. " In this attitude, the strong leg is back- 
ward, the free one forward." This is the attitude of reflection, 
of concentration, of the strong man. It indicates the absence of 
passion. It has something of intelligence. It is neither the 
position of the child nor of the uncultured man. It indicates 
calmness, strength, independence. 

Third attitude. In this attitude the strong leg is forward, the 
free leg backward. This is the attitude of vehemence, of ener- 
getic action, of intense objectivity, of urging the speaker's will 
upon the audience. 

Fourth attitude. In this attitude the leg holding most of the 
weight is behind, but rather widely separated from the advanced 
leg. and bent at the knee. It is expressive of weakness following 
terror, fear, recoil. 

The Hand in Expression. — ' ; By representing the hands dis- 
posed in conformity with the attitude of the figures, the old masters 
have been able to express every different kind of sentiment in their 
compositions. Who. for example, has not been sensible to the 
expression of reverence in the hands of the Magdalens by Guido, 



128 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

to the eloquence of those in the cartoons of Raphael, or the signifi- 
cant force in those of the Last Supper by Da Vinci. In these 
great works may be seen all that Ouintillian says the hand is capa- 
ble of expressing : ' For other parts of the body assist the speaker ; 
but these, I may say, speak themselves. By them we ask, we 
promise, we invoke, we dismiss, we threaten, we entreat, we depre- 
cate ; we express fear, joy, grief, our doubts, our assent, our peni- 
tence ; we show moderation, profusion ; we mark number and 
time.' " 1 

The part of the hand exposed to the auditor is the expressive part. 

1. The palm of the hand is revelatory. Exposed to the auditor, 
it opens up the subject to plain sight. The back of the hand ex- 
presses secrecy, indefiniteness, doubt, and darkness. The edge 
of the hand is definitive in expression. 

2. Primary position. In the primary position of the hand, the 
fingers are differentiated ; the first finger quite straight and most 
separated ; the second and third but little separated, and more 
bent ; the fourth more separated from the third, and more straight. 
Straighten the thumb, and separate from the first finger. Avoid 
woodenness, which results from keeping the fingers close together 
and straightened out. Avoid spreading the hand, and also all 
convulsive attitudes of it. Leave them entirely alone except when 
gesturing, or raised in preparation before the body. This attitude 
should be mastered as the habitual one ; it expresses calm repose. 

3. The fist expresses firmness, conflict, strength, concentra- 
tion of force. 

4. The fingers bent at first joint is expressive of convulsion 
malevolence. 

5. The thumb falling into the middle of the hand expresses life- 
lessness, lack of energy, and when carried to extreme, drunken- 
ness, and imbecility. This faulty position is frequently seen in 
speakers. 

6. The fingers and thumb opened, and the hand thrown up, 
expresses exultation, earnestness, animated attention. 

7. The same position, with the fingers stiffened straight and 
separated to the utmost, expresses exasperation. 

8. The hand closed, with the index finger straight, defines, 

l The Hand, by Sir Charles Bell. 



ELEMENTS OF FORCE I 29 

points out the way ; when the finger is shaken, it is discriminative 
and threatening. 

9. The hand tossed from side to side expresses impatience. 

The Shoulders in expression. — 1. Normal condition indicates 
calm repose. The shoulders elevated, indicate passion. The 
shoulders depressed, indicate feebleness. The shoulders brought 
forward, indicate pain. "The patient shrug" of the shoulders 
indicates helplessness, resignation. 

"The face is the mirror of the soul" because it is the most 
impressive part of the body, and less under the control of the will, 
and consequently the most faithful agent in rendering the states 
of the soul. 

Not only may momentary emotions be read in the face, but the con- 
formation of the features of the face reveals the aptitude of the indi- 
vidual, his temperament and character, always, of course, allowing 
for the freedom of man to will and live above his natural appetences. 

Every emotion of the soul writes itself upon the countenance, 
and persistency will fix it there. 

We have characteristically sad, joyful, thoughtful, stupid, vicious 
faces. 

We have seen the same face undergo marked and sometimes 
remarkable changes, as the individual has changed his life. The 
face gives the hand more significance in gesture. 

The Eyes. — The eyes and ears are called the organs of the 
spiritual sense. The other organs of sense must come in contact 
with the object, in order to know of its qualities or character. 

With the ear we can hear sounds produced afar off; and with 
the eye we can see the object that impresses us, though many 
leagues in the distance. The eye, then, is the highest as an agent 
of expression. It has long been characterized as the "window of 
the soul.*' 

1. The normal eye indicates calm repose: the eyes partially 
closed, firmness; the eyelids closed indicate stupor; the eyelids 
dilated, and the brows raised, indicate astonishment: the brows 
held normal, and the lids dilated, indicate disdain: the brows and 
lids contracted indicate perplexity. 

The Head in Expression. — 1 . The head easily erect is expressive 
of calm repose. 

2. Head inclined from object, sidewise to self, is expressive of 
cunning, envy, hate, suspicion. 



13° 



PUBLIC SPEAKING 



3. Head turned away from the object and thrown back is ex- 
pressive of pride, arrogance. 

4. Head inclined before the object is expressive of contempla- 
tion. 

5. Head thrown back is expressive of vehemence, exaltation, 
abandonment of self. 

6. Head inclined obliquely toward object is expressive of vener- 
ation, reverence. 

7. Head inclined away from object, nonchalance, confidence. 

8. Head thrown directly and easily back, with uplifted face, is 
expressive of spiritual exaltation. 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I3I 



CHAPTER III 

ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 

The elements that gratify the aesthetic nature are varied, 
and in most instances subtle things, upon which it is 
difficult, if not impossible, to put the finger. The princi- 
pal ones are those that give charm to the literary style of 
the speaker. A few elements may be specially but briefly 
considered : — 

Sec I. Harmony of Function. — Delivery, to be effec- 
tive for its purpose must harmonize the various elements, 
so that each feature shall be timely, accurate, and complete. 
It should be without hitch or friction. Everything that jars 
upon the feelings calls attention from the thought to the 
agent. Not to speak of such co-ordinations as those in- 
volved in the simplest alphabetic element, the principal 
relations involved in speaking may be consciously directed. 
In brief, the idea must be co-ordinated w T ith the word, as 
imaginatively seen or heard ; the word with the adjustment 
of the organs of enunciation (the breathing, breath control, 
pronunciation, etc.); the gesture with the spoken word; 
and all related to the audience. In manuscript or book 
delivery, the idea is read out of the page, and the identical 
language of the page selected in turn for the expression of 
that idea. A failure to co-ordinate any of these parts dis- 
turbs the expression. Harmony effectively suits the word 
to the action, and the action to the word. Among other 
things it means graceful bearing. 

Another aspect of harmony is the proper relating of the 
various ideas of the discourse. It involves the harmony of 
each part to the other and of each to the whole. 



132 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

Each speech or selection has its own atmosphere or pre- 
vail ing emotion underlying all the variety of parts. It 
gives the ideal and especially the emotional unity of speech, 
and all the parts must harmonize with this unity. The 
atmosphere of tragedy differs from that of comedy, and that 
of the funeral sermon differs from that of the cheerful 
essay. 

Each part of discourse is colored emotionally by each 
immediately adjacent part. With the ideal differentiation, 
the unity must also be observed. The anger of one part 
colors the tenderest sentiment of the adjacent part. Words 
introducing a quotation are colored by the emotion of the 
quotation. 

Violation of the principle of harmony manifests itself 
in delivering all types of composition in the same mood. 
Fits and starts of emotions are most unexpectedly intro- 
duced, and the delivery is fragmentary. It is capriciously 
loud or soft, slow or rapid; the delivery is unsuited to 
the mental content. 

Sec. II. Pronunciation. — The word pronunciation is 
used in the ordinary modern sense. Elegance demands 
that a word be pronounced according to best usage, so far as 
that can be determined. Pronunciation that suggests pro- 
vincialism, or lack of ordinary culture, offends the taste, 
and calls attention away from the ideas of the discourse;, 
it also weakens confidence as to the qualifications of the 
speaker, in proportion to the obviousness and seriousness 
of the blunder. One should avoid calling attention to the 
pronunciation as such. 

Absolute uniformity in pronunciation among all those 
who use the English language is quite impossible; for each 
individual has his personal equation. Besides, large sec- 
tions, , equally creditable as authority, differ from one 
another; and colloquial pronunciation allowably differs from 
that of formal discourse. The maker of each important 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 1 33 

dictionary has found it necessary to give a long list of 
words variously pronounced. The pronunciation of lan- 
guage, too, is constantly changing. The pronunciation of 
Chaucer's English is a forcible reminder of this fact. Ac- 
cording to Sweet, the pronunciation of the London of to-day 
differs widely from that of a century ago. A. J. Ellis holds 
that there are three generations of pronunciation at any one 
instant, each succeeding one modifying the other. 

A changed pronunciation practised by any considerable 
number of educated speakers is first noted as a "tendency," 
and finally recorded as the accepted pronunciation of good 
usage. For instance, there has long been a tendency to 
change the long "u" sound into "6" (oo) sound, in situa- 
tions unfavorable to its pronunciation. The use of " 6 " 
(oo) instead of "u" after "r" is fully established and 
accepted by all recent authorities. There is no question 
about " true, " "prune," "ferrule." Usage is still divided 
as to the treatment of "u" after "T." Is it "lute," "'flue," 
"plume," or otherwise. After "t," "d," "u," and "s," 
usage is not uniform. There is a tendency in all these 
cases to change "u" into "6" (oo). After "t," in such 
words as "tune," "tube," "Tuesday," "66" contends with 
"u. w After "d" (duty, duly, during, dude, duke), after 
"n" (news, nude), and after "s" (suit, insulate, sewer, 
capsule), there is a tendency to change "u" into "oo." 

Usage is undecided as to the treatment of "t," "d," "s," 
"z," with the " i " or "y " sound after it before another vowel. 
Are they fused into "ch," "j," and "sh," "zh,"ornot? The 
struggle is between "na/ure " and "nature," between "gra^/- 
«al " and "gradual," " sure " and "\r/mre," "visual and "vis- 
ual. But we say viz/ion, not vision; as/zure, not asure. Ac- 
cording to the Century Dictionary, there is a tendency to 
change "o" in lot into "o" in song; also to omit "r" in 
many situations. Sweet ("A Primer of Spoken English ") 
recorded "suh" for "sir," "haad" for "hard," "Tiaat " for 



134 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

"heart," "staa " for "star," "pooa" for " poor," etc., as the 
pronunciation of "educated spoken English." Such omis- 
sion of the " r " is not unknown in America. Murray, as 
the editor of the greatest English dictionary ever projected, 
says, " From the composite character of the English vocabu- 
lary, the pronunciation also, of many words is in a very 
unsettled state." He instances that he heard the word 
"gaseous" pronounced in six different ways on one occa- 
sion, by as many different men eminent in science. 

What, then, is to guide the student in pronunciation ? 
Obviously good usage. But what is good usage ? Is it the 
usage of London, of Boston, of New York, of Chicago ? 
Can any section rightly claim precedence ?. What guides 
do the guides follow ? Boswell once asked Dr. Johnson 
why he did not indicate the pronunciation of words in his 
dictionary, urging that he understood Mr. Sheridan had 
done so; and Johnson replied, "What entitles Sheridan to 
fix English pronunciation? He is an Irishman! He says 
the example of the best educated; but they differ among 
themselves. I remember an instance. Lord Chesterfield 
once told me that ' great ' must rhyme with ' state; ' Sir Wil- 
liam Yonge said with ' seat. ' One is the best speaker of the 
House of Lords, and the other of the House of Commons." 
The specialist, A. J. Ellis, ridicules any high claim to a 
standard of pronunciation. When appealed to, he replies, 
" I pronounce the word so and so ; but I have heard others 
pronounce it so and so. I have no means of determining 
which is the correct way." Henry Sweet and other distin- 
guished phoneticians teach that there is no absolute stand- 
ard, and that there may be many correct ways of pronoun- 
cing any word. Any notion, then, that any one man can 
determine the pronunciation of a word, or that any one 
dictionary decides the matter, shows a reverence for au- 
thority more submissive than intelligent, and totally fails to 
appreciate how language is made. On the other hand, those 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 135 

who claim that "language is a life," and not mechanically 
fixed, are likely, it seems to me, to exercise too great free- 
dom in matters of pronunciation. 

No student must conclude, however, that pronunciation 
is a matter of indifference. Many now in the schools must 
guard against the faulty pronunciation of their early sur- 
roundings; elementary defects and narrow provincialisms 
are inexcusable. The pronunciation of any important dic- 
tionary, in all likelihood, represents some considerable 
number of persons, and for practical purposes is entitled to 
be regarded as authority. To the student, then, any lead- 
ing dictionary is a sufficient guide. He may feel reasona- 
bly secure, also, if he be sure he follows the usage of a 
considerable number of the educated people of his section 
in any tendency to a changed pronunciation, whether it has 
found the way into a dictionary or not ; and as usage, and 
not a priori principles, governs, consistency does not re- 
quire the student to conform to any one book exclusively. 

Sec. III. Agreeable Voice. — Voices that are rich 
and resonant give pleasure to the listener. This is due to 
the musical qualities already discussed. Such a voice is 
not only pleasing to the ear, but suggests refinement and 
culture, and hence is an element of elegance. 

Sec. IV. Strong and Graceful Movements. — As the 
advantages of strong and easy bearing and movement have 
already been shown, but slight reference to them is neces- 
sary at this point. Strong and graceful movements, also, 
suggest strength, character, culture, and at once please the 
eye, as an agreeable voice does the ear. 

PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT. 

At this point, not for one only, but for all the purposes 
of Public Speaking, Physical Development may properly 
receive consideration. It is not our intention, however, to 
present an elaborate system of gymnastics, but to briefly 



I36 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

treat the leading principles, and to give a sufficient num- 
ber and variety of exercises adapted to classes where only 
limited attention can be given to the subject. They will be 
found adequate for ordinary practical purposes. 

Principles and Aims of Physical Development. — 
The ends of exercise are the development of vital capacity and 
strength, and the acquisition of correct habit. The former is 
hygienic, and the latter educational. 

Dr. E. M. Hartwell, of Johns Hopkins University, distin- 
guishes between the Fundamental and the Accessory mechan- 
ism of the body. In the former class, is the mechanism of 
respiration, of the heart, of locomotion, etc. In the latter, 
is the muscular mechanism for maintaining the erect posi- 
tion, for the action of the hand, for the vocal organs, etc. 

The development of the Fundamental mechanism means 
increased vitality and strength, while the development of 
the Accessory mechanism means skill and grace. 

Dr. J. Enebuske, representing the Swedish system, states 
the object of educational gymnastics to be "the harmonious 
relation of mind and body." 

These principles and aims of physical exercises are no- 
where more serviceable than in exercises taken for purposes 
of Public Speaking. 

The aims of exercises, that is, exercises for increased 
strength and vitality, and for the development of right 
habit, depend for their realization upon the following 
conditions : — 

1. The accuracy with which any given exercise is taken. 

2. The alternate tension and relaxation of the muscles; 
momentary rest alternating with action. 

3. The repetition or frequency of the exercise. Two 
hours of vigorous exercise taken once a month may do 
more harm than good. 

4. The rhythmical character or ease of the movements. 
Rigid restraint, constant tension, make hard work, and 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 1 37 

prevent the development desired. Count during the move- 
ment. Be deliberate. 

Cultivate the sense of control in all movements. 

The vigorous and rapid movements, breaking down old 
tissue and renewing it more rapidly, should alternate with 
slower movements for the purpose of gesticular control. 

It seems to me that the free-hand movements of the 
Swedish system, especially promotive of grace and con- 
trol, may well alternate with the exercise with weights, as 
advocated by Dr. Sargent of Harvard. Free-hand move- 
ments are, moreover, more practicable under ordinary cir- 
cumstances. 

Avoid exercise immediately before or after a full meal. 
Exercise in pure air. After long periods of rest, approach 
the exercise gradually, so as to prevent unnecessary lame- 
ness. Stop before becoming fatigued. 

Exercises. First Series. — 1. Stand, inhale, hands 
on chest, elbows level with the shoulder; tap chest with 
light percussive blows. 

2. Stand, both hands in front of face, palm to face, 
separate, pull back and down; count two. 

3. Stand, toss both hands front, palm down, turn over, 
clasp fists, draw in, elbows at sides, fists below the waist 
level, slightly out; count three. 

4. Stand, arms extended stiff by the sides, fists, bring 
straight up, stretch, rotate. 

5. Hands extended over head, bend forward, reach with 
tips of fingers, drop the hands, erect, bend back, flex to 
right, to left, arms dangling. 

6. Hands on hips, bend forward, rotate clear around, 
now in opposite direction. 

7. Clasp hands back of head, rotate as in Exercise 6. 

8. Drop the head forward, rotate clear around. 

9. Bend back, face to ceiling, arms stretched up, palm to 
palm, separate, extended sidewise, level with shoulders, fist. 



I38 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

10. Stand, fingers of open hand on each shoulder, sud- 
denly thrust the hands straight up. 

11. Stand, suddenly thrust both hands down by the sides, 
extended fingers, then straight up over head. 

12. Stand, arms extended in front, clasp hands, rotate 
body to left, to right. 

13. Stand firm on right foot, swing the free leg; change 
to opposite. 

14. Stand, rise on tiptoe. 

15. Knead the chest by putting the hands as far up under 
the armpits as possible, and then squeezing the chest. 
This loosens the articulations at the sternum and vertebrae, 
allowing the ribs at the same time to elevate themselves 
more at a right angle, thus giving greater chest capacity. 

16. Diaphragmatic resistance. 

(1) Place the hands circling the region just below the 
floating ribs, thumbs toward' the back, deep breath, make a 
continuous muscular effort, hold breath, resisting the hands, 
hold sides firm. 

(2) Place the hands in front, the fingers pressing on the 
region of the diaphgram, make muscular resistance. 

(3.) Place the half -fist on the region midway; muscular 
resistance as above. Practise 1, 2, and 3 with continuous 
breathing, also with sudden breathing. 

17. Left fist well up on the chest, half back, right hand 
fingers on right clavical, breathe, pressing against each hand. 

Additional special exercises for " setting up," or for the 
erect attitude. 

1. Stand, both arms level with shoulder, extended side- 
wise, palms up, turn head to right, look in palm. To left, 
etc. 

2. Hold spinal column straight, stoop, hands on the 
thigh, turn head slowly, looking right, left, etc. 

3. Hold spinal column straight, stoop, hands on knees, 
turn head looking right, left, slowly. 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 1 39 

4. Standing and walking make the back of the neck 
touch the collar. 

Second Series. — With this Series, light dumb-bells, 
say of one pound each, are to be used. Lifted chest. Re- 
peat each exercise according to circumstances. 

1. Arms extended from the sides, level with the shoulder, 
rotate slightly. 

2. Over head, in a similar way. 

3. Beginning with a bell on each shoulder, thrust up 
over head. 

4. Beginning the same as in 3, open the arms out side- 
wise. 

5. (a) Both feet together, weight on left, step forward 
with right; bring both arms up, bent back, closing with 
forearm vertical; bring back to starting-point. 

(b) Change to right. 

(c) Same movement, stepping back. 

(d) Change. 

6. Pull bell up to each armpit; rise on toes. 

7. Bend right and left, hands hanging down. 

8. Stand on right foot, swing the left; change. 

9. Rise on toes, stoop, strike end of bell on floor. 

10. Feet firm, stoop, strike bells together under the legs. 

11. Grasp both bells together, arms extended front, 
rotate right, left. 

12. Both feet together, grasp bells together with both 
hands, swing over head, bend back, swing between legs, 
bending forward. 

13. Right foot advanced, sw T ing as in 12, oblique ; 
change, left advanced. 

14. Bend back, face to ceiling, bells in front, bring 
down level with shoulder. 

The exercises given in Series I. and II. are all that 
classes generally, and persons primarily interested in de- 
livery, will care to use. 



PART II 

PRAXIS IN DELIVERY 



ANALYSIS OF A SPEECH 

The Subjective Treatment. — The analytic method 
of the book is applied in the preparation of the following 
selection. The attempt is not intended to be exhaustive, 
but rather to further illustrate the method. 

ANTONY'S SPEECH OVER CESAR'S BODY. 

Shakespeare. 

1. I COME to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

2. The evil that men do lives after them ; 

3. The good is oft interred with their bones; 

4. So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 

5. Hath told you Caesar was ambitious; 

6. If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 

7. And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 

8. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest 

9. (For Brutus is an honorable man; 

10. So are they all, all honorable men) 

11. Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

12. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: 

13. But Brutus says he was ambitious; 

14. And Brutus is an honorable man. 

15. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

16. Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 

17. Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? 

18. When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: 

19. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 

20. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 

140 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I4I 

21. And Brutus is an honorable man. 

22. You all did see that on the Lupercal 

23. I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

24. Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? 

25. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 

26. And, sure, he is an honorable man. 

27. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 

28. But here I am to speak what I do know. 

29. You all did love him once, not without cause: 

30. What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him? 

31. O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

32. And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; 

33. My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 

34. And I must pause till it come back to me. 

1. The Subject and purpose of the address. Brutus and his con- 
federates are assassins, enemies of Rome, and deserve death. The 
speaker's purpose is to excite the populace to violence. 

2. The atmosphere or mood. The prevailing emotion or mood 
is that of pity and simulated humility. 

3. Definition of words. Even when the meaning of words is 
familiar, it is well worth the while to define them, and to name 
their special qualities. Observe how difficult it is to define familiar 
words. The attempt will frequently be like Justice Shallow's at- 
tempt to define " accommodated.' 1 " Come " = approach, be pres- 
ent ; here, manifestive of purpose. " To bury "= to inter a corpse, 
to hide in the ground, to entomb. " Caesar "— a conqueror, a 
wise ruler, a friend to many, the assassinated. " Praise'' = to 
commend for virtues or worthy actions, to glorify. " Evil w == in- 
jurious qualities, bad qualities, wrong deeds. " Lives n = abides, 
continues. "The good '"= right deeds, virtuous conduct, helpful 
qualities. " Oft" = often, sometimes. " Interred ' % = buried, put 
under the ground. " Bones "= (here) body; literally, a sub- 
stance composing the skeleton. " Xoble " = great, elevated, 
honorable reputation. " Brutus " = noble Roman, a conspirator, 
a participant in the death of Caesar. " Ambitious " = desirous of 
power. " Honorable v = of distinguished rank; illustrious, noble. 

4. Logical Relations. "I" is the subject of "'come. 1 ' "To 
bury Caesar,'' predicate; " I," understood, subject, and [come] 
"not to praise him," predicate. The latter is antithetic, but sub- 
ordinate to the first clause. " The Evil'' is the subject; "lives 



I42 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

after them," the predicate. " That men do," modifying " evil," is 
subordinate. The first and last clauses are co-ordinate. "The 
good is oft interred with their bones " is the leading statement. 
" So let it be with Caesar " is less analytic, and is conclusive. The 
thought and feeling repose for a while after this sentence. It is 
subordinate to the preceding member of the sentence. "The 
. . . ambitious' 1 continually heightens to the word "ambitious." 
"If it were so" is subordinate to the next clause. " It . . . 
fault," is made strikingly prominent; the hypothetical "if" is 
kept rather out of sight, since he does not wish to question, at 
this point, Brutus's opinion. 

5. Elipses. The elipses will be supplied in brackets. 

I come to bury Caesar ; [but I do] not [come] to praise him. 

The noble Brutus hath told you [but has given no proof that] 
Caesar was ambitious ; 

If it were so, [but it is not], it was a grievous fault; 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? [Obviously, not.] 

Yet Brutus says, [is he to be believed? that] he was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honorable [is he not honorable?] man 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown [which shows he was not 
ambitious]. 

6. The New Idea. — " Not praise " is the new idea. " Him," 
old idea, previously given in the word, " Caesar." " Evil," new 
idea. " Men " is a new idea, but subordinate. " Lives " is a new 
idea, and is significant from what follows. "Good" contains a 
new idea. "Interred" and "bones" are each old ideas, previ- 
ously given in "bury" and "Caesar." "So" is a new idea. 
" Brutus" is a new idea. " Ambitions," new. " Grievous fault," 
new. "Answered," new. "To speak," new. "Friend," new. 
" Faithful, 11 " just," " me," each contains a new idea. " Ambitious," 
new. 

The style of this speech is rather laconic ; and being broken up, 
and without oratorical continuity, it does not so well illustrate the 
relation of new and old as many other selections. 

7. hnagination. — Picture the noisy, bustling rabble; imagine 
the difficulties of the situation ; see Antony with bowed head, defer- 
ential and silent before the crowd, and in the presence of the body 
prepared for burial. All of the scene and occasion emotionally 
affects the mind of the speaker, and hence, also, the mind of the 
person who reproduces it. In the first line, the reader looks at 
the imaginary body. One naturally imagines the evil deeds re- 
peated from generation to generation. 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 143 

The next picture awakened is that of mouldering bones ; then 
the physical appearance of Brutus, rather tall, erect, strong, digni- 
fied, dark complexioned. A little further along, imaginatively, 
Caesar is pictured triumphantly entering Rome, followed by a 
captive train ; the gold of their ransom is seen ; next, in contrast, 
Caesar, weeping ; then Antony, presenting him a crown ; his wav- 
ing it aside. A few other pictures present themselves. The selec- 
tion, however, is not rich in things of the imagination. 

8. Associated Ideas. — (1) "I come" suggests " bury ; " 
11 bury," " Caesar, " also, " praise." The next line is rather discon- 
nected. " Evil " suggests " men ; " " men," " do," " lives, " and 
44 good ; " " the good,'* suggests 44 interred ;" " interred," " bones." 
The second and third lines are introduced for the purpose of at- 
tributing them to Caesar. "So" summarizes and suggests the 
two preceding lines and also "Caesar." (2) ' 4 Praise" suggests 
4 ' blame ; " the blame others have placed on Caesar. To the average 
mind, it suggests some sympathy with Brutus. "Evil" suggests 
possibly the evil of Caesar. The listener connects the association. 
It is the evil of men. " The good " is forgotten. By association, 
44 good" is a quality of Caesar. The orator says let the evil of 
Caesar live and the good die. This by implication seems to side 
with Brutus. " Bones *' suggests powerlessness — Caesar's condi- 
tion; hence he should not excite resentment. " Noble, '* being a 
complimentary term, suggests approval of Brutus's course. " Brutus 
hath told" suggests what he told of Caesar's ambition : this, more- 
over, suggests agreement with what Antony is telling. Caesar's 
ambition was a fault. " /f" adroitly slipped in — the first note of 
dissent; but not dwelt upon. " Grievously answered it, 11 suggests 
forgiveness and pity. The situation requires great caution. The 
orator breaks in upon the ideas last introduced, and again refers 
to the superior power and place of 44 Brutus and the rest.*' Pauses 
to call them 44 honorable.'* Repeats it twice at short intervals. 
That word, ''honorable,*' is the key-word to the most important 
association in the oration. By repetition and concurrent notions, 
its opposite is suggested and attributed, not by the speaker (no 
need of that), but by the listener to the conspirators. The 
eleventh line repeats the first. " Friend," " faithful," and "just," 
awaken ideas of approval : " to me." added at last, allays all ques- 
tioning. "But" suggests an antithetic idea: " ambitious " is 
smuggled in as that idea. They have approved " friend,*' 4 ' faith- 
ful,'* and "just;" hence disapprove of "ambitious.'" The next 



144 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

line is thrown in to show agreement and to further impress 
"honorable" on the listener. "Many captives" suggests power, 
riches — the material for ambition. "General coffers fill" sug- 
gests generosity, unselfishness. This, together with " Caesar 
wept," " Crown thrice refuse," suggests absence of ambition. 

9. E?notions. — The whole speech is given with conversational 
simplicity and directness. The speaker, however, is thoroughly 
alert and intense. Grief and assumed humility are the prevailing 
emotions. Very meekly, he says, "I come to bury Caesar." The 
feeling of positiveness or affirmation repeats itself. "So let it be 
with Caesar," given with feelings of tenderness and yet positive- 
ness. From " the " to " fault," inclusive, given with lighter touch, 
and the next line with increased positiveness. The next three (8-10) 
lines given with feeling of simple statement ; the eleventh line, the 
positiveness of completed statement. The eighteenth line is given 
with imitative (slight) tenderness ; nineteenth changes to feelings 
of sternness ; twentieth and twenty-first, the feelings accompany- 
ing simple statement. . . . "O judgment" . . . " reason," given 
with regretful and censorious feeling. " Bear . . . me," given 
with a sudden break of overwhelming grief. 

The various changes of emotion are so slight that they are not 
so easily described as in many selections. 

The oration as a whole, viewed as a means to an end, is a master- 
piece. From the ethical point of view, it is not defensible. Almost 
from beginning to end it is a tissue of false statements. The ethics 
of speech-making is an important subject. We can take space to 
say only that an element of the new oratory is honesty and direct- 
ness. 

The Objective Treatment. — As the purpose in analyz- 
ing this speech is to make clear the method of this book 
rather than to aid in its special preparation, and as the 
instruction upon the Elements is already full, and more or 
less familiar as a method of treatment, it is hardly neces- 
sary to illustrate their application in this selection. 

In dealing with the Elements, always remember that they 
are the counterpart of subjective conditions. In determin- 
ing emphasis, stress, inflection, gesture, etc., apply the 
principles involved. Do not settle capriciously upon an 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I45 

emphasis or slide, but give the reason for its selection. 
Never allow any stereotyped form to interfere with mental 
freedom and spontaneity. In preparing a selection, pro- 
vide for growth. This involves change. The objective 
treatment will be especially valuable in difficult places. 
Try a certain kind of voice, inflection, pause, or other ele- 
ment, and then judge of it. In every instance apply the 
committed "Scheme." 

Praxis in Delivery. 

The leading types of Composition — descriptive and 
narrative, oratorical and dramatic — combine elements 
peculiar to each, and afford opportunity for concentrated 
effort in practice. For practical purposes, highly imagina- 
tive and metrical selections may also be regarded as 
types affording distinct opportunities. 

While carrying into practice all of the sources and ele- 
ments according to the " Scheme," the student will find.it 
advantageous to recognize the leading feature or features of 
any selection, and practise at first with special reference to 
these features. 

I. DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION. 

Descriptive and narrative selections emphasize the con- 
versational. As the conversational is the basis of all effec- 
tive speaking, and as it is naturally the least difficult type, it 
may well be selected for beginning elocutionary discipline. 
The purpose of description and narration is to give infor- 
mation in an interesting way. Its essential feature is move- 
ment. 

Descriptive and narrative delivery, while drawing upon all 
of the sources, and employing all of the elements of effective 
speaking, is simple, direct, and distinctly clear. Variety with 
its differentiation is a marked feature, 



I46 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

The two following selections will serve to indicate the 
type : — 

I. WHITE HORSE HILL. 

Thomas Hughes. 

This selection is taken from " Tom Brown's School Days," Chapter I. This and 
other selections may best be studied in connection with the chapter or whole of 
which it is a part. 

And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill ! There it stands 
right up above all the rest, nine hundred feet above the sea, and 
the boldest, bravest shape for a chalk hill that you ever saw. Let 
us go up to the top of him, and see what is to be found there. Ay, 
you may well wonder and think it odd you never heard of this be- 
fore ; but wonder or not, as you please, there are hundreds of such 
things lying about England, which wiser folk than you know noth- 
ing of, and care nothing for. Yes, it's a magnificent Roman camp, 
and no mistake, with gates, and ditch, and mounds, all as complete 
as it was twenty years after the strong old rogues left it. Here, 
right up on the highest point, from which they say you can see 
eleven counties, they trenched round all the tableland, some twelve 
or fourteen acres, as was their custom, for they couldn't bear any- 
body to overlook them, and made their eyrie. The ground falls 
away rapidly on all sides. Was there ever such turf in the whole 
world ? You sink up to your ankles at every step, and yet the 
spring of it is delicious. There is always a breeze in the " camp," 
as it is called ; and here it lies just as the Romans left it, except 
that cairn on the east side left by her Majesty's corps of sappers and 
miners the other day, when they and the engineer officer had fin- 
ished their sojourn there, and their surveys for the ordnance map 
of Berkshire. It is altogether a place that you won't forget — a 
place to open a man's soul and make him prophesy, as he looks 
down on the great vale spread out as the garden of the Lord before 
him, and wave on wave of the mysterious downs behind ; and to 
the right and left the chalk hills running away into the distance, 
along which he can trace for miles the old Roman road, " the 
Ridgeway" (" the Rudge," as the country folk call it) keeping 
straight along the highest back of the hills ; such a place as Balak 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 1 47 

brought Balaam to, and told him to prophesy against the people in 
the valley beneath. And he would not ; neither shall you, for they 
are a people of the Lord who abide there. 

And now we leave the camp, and descend toward the west, and 
are on the Ashdown. We are treading on heroes. It is sacred 
ground for Englishmen, more sacred than all but one or two fields 
where their bones lie whitening. For this is the actual place where 
our Alfred won his great battle, the battle of Ashdown (" ALscen- 
dum* in the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, and 
made England a Christian land. The Danes held the camp and 
the slope where we are standing — the whole crown of the hill, in 
fact. " The heathen had beforehand seized the higher ground, " 
as old Asser says, " having wasted everything behind them from 
London, and being just ready to burst down on the fair vale, 
Alfred's own birthplace and heritage. And up the heights came 
the Saxons, as they did at the Alma. The Christians led up their 
line from the lower ground. There stood also on that same spot a 
single thorn-tree, marvellous stumpy (which we ourselves with our 
very own eyes have seen).''' Bless the old chronicler! Does he 
think nobody ever saw a ''single thorn-tree" but himself? Why, 
there it stands to this very day, just on the edge of the slope, and 
I saw it not three weeks since; an old single thorn-tree, "mar- 
vellous stumpy." At least, if it isn't the same tree, it ought to have 
been, for it's just in the place where the battle must have been won 
or lost — " around which, as I was saying, the two lines of foemen 
came together in battle with a huge shout." And in this place, one 
of the two kings of the heathen and five of his earls fell down and 
died, and many thousands of the heathen side in the same place. 
After which crowning mercy, the pious king, that there might never 
be wanting a sign and a memorial to the country-side, carved out 
on the northern side of the chalk hill under the camp, where it is 
almost precipitous, the great Saxon white horse, which he who will 
may see from the railway, and which gives its name to the vale, 
over which it has looked these thousand years and more. 



I4§ PUBLIC SPEAKING 

II. THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
This selection is taken from "Twice Told Tales/' 

Bright were the days at Merry Mount, when the Maypole was 
the banner staff of that gay colony. They who reared it, should 
their banner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New Eng- 
land's rugged hills, and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil. 
Jollity and gloom were contending for an empire. Midsummer 
eve had come, bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her 
lap of a more vivid hue than the tender buds of spring. But May, 
or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry Mount, 
sporting with the summer months, and revelling with autumn, and 
basking in the glow of winter's fireside. Through a world of toil 
and care she flitted with a dream-like smile, and came hither to 
find a home among the lightsome hearts of Merry Mount. 

Never had the Maypole been so gayly decked as at sunset on 
Midsummer Eve. This venerated emblem was a pine-tree, which 
had preserved the slender grace of youth, while it equalled the 
loftiest height of the old wood monarchs. From its top streamed 
a silken banner, colored like the rainbow. Down nearly to the 
ground, the pole was dressed with birchen boughs, and others of 
the liveliest green, and some with silvery leaves, fastened by rib- 
bons that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors, 
but no sad ones. Garden flowers and blossoms of the wilderness 
laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, so fresh and dewy, that 
they must have grown by magic on that happy pine-tree. Where 
this green and flowery splendor terminated, the shaft of the May- 
pole was stained with the seven brilliant hues of the banner at its 
top. On the lowest green bough, hung an abundant wreath of 
roses, some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of its 
forest, and others, of still richer flush, which the colonists had 
reared from English seed. Oh, people of the Golden Age, the chief 
of your husbandry was to raise flowers. 

But what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand about 
the Maypole ? It could not be that the fairies and nymphs, when 
driven from their classic groves and homes of ancient fable, had 
sought refuge, as all the persecuted did, in the fresh woods of the 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I49 

West. These were Gothic monsters, though perhaps of Grecian 
ancestry. On the shoulders of a comely youth, up rose the head 
and branching antlers of a stag; a second, human in all other 
points, had the grim visage of a wolf; a third, still with the trunk 
and limbs of a mortal man, showed the beard and horns of a vener- 
able he-goat. There was a likeness of a bear erect, brute in all 
but his hind legs, which were adorned with pink silk stockings. 
And here again, almost as wondrous, stood a real bear of the dark 
forest, lending each of his forepaws to the grasp of a human hand, 
and as ready for the dance as any in that circle. His inferior 
nature rose half-way to meet his companions as they stooped. 
Other faces wore the similitude of man or woman, but distorted 
or extravagant, with red noses, pendulous before their mouths, 
which seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear to ear in 
an eternal fit of laughter. Here might be seen the Salvage Man, 
well known in heraldry, hairy as a baboon, and girdled with green 
leaves. By his side, a nobler figure, but still a counterfeit, ap- 
peared an Indian hunter, with feathery crest and wampum belt. 
Many of this strange company wore foolscaps, and had little bells 
appended to their garments, tinkling with a silvery sound, respon- 
sive to the inaudible music of their gleesome spirits. Some youths 
and maidens were of soberer garb, yet well maintained their places 
in the irregular throng, by the expression of wild revelry upon their 
features. Such were the colonists of Merry Mount, as they stood 
in the broad smile of sunset, round their venerated Maypole. 

Had a wanderer, bewildered in the melancholy forest, heard 
their mirth, and stolen a half-affrighted glance, he might have fan- 
cied them the crew of Comus, some already transformed to brutes, 
some midway between man and beast, and the others rioting in the 
flow of tipsy jollity, that foreran the change. But a band of Puri- 
tans, who watched the scene, invisible themselves, compared the 
masques to those devils and ruined souls with whom their supersti- 
tion peopled the black wilderness. 

II. ORATORIO (HORTATORY). 

The purely Oratorio is distinctly dynamic, especially in 
its hortatory form, and is characterized by great energy. It 
affords excellent opportunity to practise the more forceful 



I50 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

elements, — the radical stress, staccato movement, strong 
force, reserved force. The following additional suggestion 
is made: Deliver the two following selections in the sim- 
plest conversational way; then deliver them exaggerating 
the intense form (reserved force) ; in the next place deliver 
them dynamically, radical stress and marked staccato move- 
ment; lastly combine all of these elements in the full and 
finished form of the type. 

I. AWAIT THE ISSUE. 

Thomas Carlyle. 
This selection is taken from " Past and Present." 

i. In this — God's — world, with its wild, whirling eddies and 
mad, foam oceans, where men and nations perish as if without law, 
and judgment for an unjust thing is sternly delayed, dost thou think 
that there is therefore no justice ? It is what the fool hath said in 
his heart. It is what the wise, in all times, were wise because they 
denied, and knew forever not to be. I tell thee again, there is 
nothing else but justice. One strong thing I find here below: the 
just thing, and true thing. 

2. My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trun- 
dling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires 
visibly waiting ahead of thee to blaze centuries long for thy victory 
on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy 
baton, and say, " In Heaven's name, no ! " 

3. Thy " success " ? Poor devil, what will thy success amount 
to? If the thing is unjust, thou hast not succeeded ; no, not though 
bonfires blazed from north to south, and bells rang, and editors 
Wrote leading articles, and the just things lay trampled out of 
sight, — to all mortal eves an abolished and annihilated thing. . . . 

4. For it is the right and noble alone that will have victory in 
this struggle ; the rest is wholly an obstruction, a postponement, 
and fearful imperilment of the victory. Towards an eternal centre 
of right and nobleness, and of that only, is all confusion tending. 
We already know whither it is all tending ; what will have victory, 
what will have none ! The heaviest will reach the centre. The 
heaviest has its deflections ; its obstructions ; nay, at times its re- 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I 5 I 

boundings, its resiliences, whereupon some blockhead shall be heard 
iubilatinof, " See, vour heaviest ascends ! " but at all moments it is 
moving centreward, fast as is convenient for it; sinking, sinking; 
and, by laws older than the world, old as the Maker's first plan 
of the world, it has to arrive there. 

5. Await the issue. In all battles, if you await the issue, each 
fighter has prospered according to his right. His right and his 
might, at the close of the account, were one and the same. He 
has fought with all his might, and in exact proportion to all his 
right he has prevailed. His very death is no victory over him. 
He dies indeed ; but his work lives, very truly lives. 

6. A heroic Wallace, quartered on the scaffold, cannot hinder 
that his Scotland become, one day, a part of England ; but he does 
hinder that it become, on tyrannous, unfair terms, a part of it ; 
commands still, as with a god's voice, from his old Valhalla and 
Temple of the Brave, that there be a just, real union as of brother 
and brother, not a false and merely semblant one as of slave and 
master. If the union with England be in fact one of Scotland's 
chief blessings, we thank Wallace withal that it was not the chief 
curse. Scotland is not Ireland : no, because brave men rose there 
and said, " Behold, ye must not tread us down like slaves ; and ye 
shall not. and cannot ! " 

7. Fight on, thou brave, true, heart, and falter not, through dark 
fortune and through bright. The cause thou tightest for, so far as 
it is true, no farther, yet precisely so far, is very sure of victory. 
The falsehood alone of it will be conquered, will be abolished, as it 
ought to be; but the truth of it is part of Nature's own laws, co- 
operates with the world's eternal tendencies, and cannot be con- 
quered. 

II. NATIONAL BANKRUPTCY. 

MlRABEAU. 

From a speech before the National Convention of France, 17S9. 

i. I hear much said of patriotism, appeals to patriotism, trans- 
ports of patriotism. Gentlemen, why prostitute this noble word? 
Is it so very magnanimous to give up a part of your income in order 
to save your whole property? This is very simple arithmetic; and 
he that hesitates deserves contempt rather than indignation. 



152 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

2. Yes, gentlemen, it is to your immediate self-interest, to your 
most familiar notions of prudence and policy, that I now appeal. 
I say not to you now as heretofore, beware how you give the world 
the first example of an assembled nation untrue to the public faith. 
I ask you not, as heretofore, what right you have to freedom, or 
what means of maintaining it, if, at your first step in administra- 
tion, you outdo in baseness all the old and corrupt governments. I 
tell you, that unless you prevent this catastrophe, you will all be 
involved in the general ruin; and that you are yourselves the per- 
sons most deeply interested in making the sacrifices which the gov- 
ernment demands of you. 

3. I exhort you, then, most earnestly, to vote these extraordi- 
nary supplies ; and God grant that they may prove sufficient ! Vote 
them, I beseech you ; for, even if you doubt the expediency of the 
means, you know perfectly well that the supplies are necessary, and 
that you are incapable of raising them in any other way. Vote 
them at once, for the crisis does not admit of delay ; and, if it oc- 
curs, we must be responsible for the consequences. 

4. Beware of asking for time. Misfortune accords it never. 
While you are lingering, the evil day will come upon you. Why, 
gentlemen, it is but a few days since that upon occasion of some 
foolish bustle in the Palais Royal, some ridiculous insurrection that 
existed nowhere but in the heads of a few weak or designing in- 
dividuals, we were told with emphasis, " Catiline is at the gates of 
Rome, and yet we deliberate." You know, gentlemen, that this 
was all imagination. We are far from being at Rome ; nor is there 
any Catiline at the gates of Paris. But now are we threatened with 
a real danger ; bankruptcy, national bankruptcy, is before you ; it 
threatens to swallow up your persons, your property, your honor, 
— and yet you deliberate. 

III. DRAMATIC TYPE. 

The Dramatic is the third type of composition. It affords 
splendid discipline in frequent and radical changes of emo- 
tion, in control, and in broadening the moods and tempera- 
ment of the speaker. The practice of dramatic selections 
is an excellent means fcr developing oratoric power. The 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I 53 

interpretation of great pieces of literature as found in the 
drama is a legitimate aim, and though achieved in a high 
degree only by genius, is well worthy the aim of all for 
its cultural value. The two following selections are as 
simple as any that may be chosen for this purpose. 



I. BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

Shakespeare. 

This selection is taken from " Julius Caesar/' Act I. Sc. ii. The student should 
read the whole play, and form a definite estimate of the two men, etc. 

Brutus. What means this shouting ? I do fear, the people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cassius. Ay, do you fear it ? 

Then must I think you would not have it so. 

Brutus. I would not, tassius, yet I love him well. 

But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
What is it that you would impart to me? 
If it be aught toward the general good, 
Set honor in one eye, and death r the other, 
And I will look on both indifferently, 
For let the gods so speed me as I love 
The name of honor more than I fear death. 

Cassius. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 

As well as I do know your outward favor. 
Well, honor is the subject of my story. 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life, but for my single self, 
I had as lief not be as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar : so were you : 
We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he : 
For once, upon a raw and gusty dav. 
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me, Dar^st thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me i?ito this a?igry flood, 



154 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

And swim to yonder poi?it ? Upon the word, 

Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 

And bade him follow : so indeed he did. 

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it 

With lusty sinews, throwing it aside 

And stemming it with hearts of controversy ; 

But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 

Caesar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink I 

I, as ^Eneas, our great ancestor, 

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tyber 

Did I the tired Caesar. And this man 

Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain ; 

And when the fit was on him I did mark 

How he did shake ; 'tis true, this god did shake : 

His coward lips did from their color fly ; 

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 

Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan : 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 

Alas, it cried, Give me some dri7ik, Titinius, 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone. \Shout and flourish. 

Brutus. Another general shout ! 

I do believe that these applauses are 

For some new honors that are heaped on Caesar. 

Cassius. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates ; 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I 55 

Brutus and Ccesari what should be in that Ccesar? 

Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 

Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 

Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, 

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Ccesar. 

Now, in the name of all the gods at once, 

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shanvd 

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 

When went there by an age, since the great flood, 

But it was fam'd with more than one man? 

When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 

That her wide walls encompass'd but one man ? 

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 

When there is in it but one only man. 

O, you and I have heard our fathers say 

There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 

Th' eternal Devil to keep his state in Rome, 

As easily as a king ! 



II. BRUTUS, CASSIUS, AND CASCA. 

Shakespeare. 
This selection, like the preceding, is from ' ; Julius Caesar," Act I. Sc. ii. 

Casca. You pulPd me by the cloak : would you speak with me? 

Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, that Caesar 
looks so sad. 

Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not? 

Bru. I should not, then, ask Casca what had chanc'd. 

Casca. Why, there was a crown ofler'd him ; and being offered 
him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then the 
people fell a-shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for? 

Casca. Why for that too. 

Cass. They shouted thrice : what was the last cry for? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offerd him thrice? 



156 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time 
gentler than other ; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbors 
shouted. 

Cass. Who ofifer'd him the crown? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca, I can as well be hang'd, as tell the manner of it : it was 
mere foolery ; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a 
crown ; — yet 'twas not a crowm neither, 'twas one of these coro- 
nets ; and, as I told you, he put it by once : but, for all that, to my 
thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him 
again ; then he put it by again : but, to my thinking, he was very 
loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time ; 
he put it the third time by ; and still, as he refus'd it, the rabble- 
ment shouted, and clapp'd their chapp'd hands, and threw up their 
sweaty nightcaps, and Caesar swooned, and fell down at it. 

Cass. But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swoon? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and foam'd at mouth, 
and was speechless. 

Brti. 'Tis very like ; he hath the falling-sickness. 

Cass. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I, 

And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but I am sure 
Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss 
him, according as he pleas'd and displeas'd them, as they used to 
do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. 

Bru. What said he when he came unto himself ? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceiv'd the com- 
mon herd was glad he refus'd the crown, he pluck'd me ope his 
doublet, and offer'd them his throat to cut : an I had been a man 
of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would 
I might go down among the rogues : — and so he fell. When he 
came to himself again he said, if he had done or said anything amiss, 
he desir'd their worships to think it was his infirmity. 

Bru. And, after that, he came thus sad away? 

Casca. Ay. 

Cass. Did Cicero say anything? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cass. To w 7 hat effect? 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANXE I 57 

Cased. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i 1 the face 
again : but those that understood him smil'd at one another and 
shook their heads ; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I 
could tell you more news too : Marullus and Flavius, for pulling 
scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. 
There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. 
Cass. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? 
Casca. No, I am promis'd forth. 
Cass. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner 
worth the eating. 

Cass. Good ; I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so : farewell both. \Exit Casca. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! He was quick 
mettle when he went to school. 
Cass. So is he now, in execution 

Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
With better appetite. 



IV. IMAGINATION AND RHYTHM. 

Selections of prose or poetry, introducing the imagination 
in a prominent way, give excellent opportunity for the 
special cultivation of this faculty upon which depends so 
largely the essential of force in delivery. Without imagina- 
tion, no considerable power in delivery is possible. The 
\\\o following selections well answer this purpose. After 
using these two selections for the development of the im- 
agination and emotion, they may be further used for special 
attention to rhythm. 



158 PUBLIC SPEAKING 



I. PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 

H. W. Longfellow. 

This selection is from Fireside Tales. 

I. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five : 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

11. 
He said to his friend, " If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
Of the North Church tower, as a signal light, — 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 
And I on the opposite shore will be 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country-folk to be up and to arm. 1 ' 

in. 

Then he said, " Good-night ! " and with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 

Just as the moon rose over the bay, 

Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay 

The " Somerset," British man-of-war: 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 

Across the moon, like a prison bar, 

And a huge, black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

IV. 

Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till, in the silence around him, he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms and the tramp of feet, 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE I 59 

And the measured tread of the grenadiers 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

v. 

Then he climbed to the tower of the church, 
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 
To the belfry chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeons from their perch 
On the sombre rafters, that round him made 
Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
To the highest window in the wall, 
Where he paused to listen, and look down 
A moment on the roofs of the town, 
And the moonlight flowing over all. 

VI. 

Beneath in the church-yard lay the dead 
In their night encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deep and still 
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
The watchful night-wind, as it went 
Creeping along from tent to tent, 
And seeming to whisper, " All is well!" 

VII. 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, the secret dread 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead : 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away, 

Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends and floats 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

VIII. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, 



l6o PUBLIC SPEAKING 

Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Then impetuous, stamped the earth, 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 

IX. 

And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 

x. 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 

And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, 

The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 

Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

XI. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read 
How the British regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, 
Chasing the redcoats down the lane, 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

XII. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 
And so through the night went his cry of alarm 
To every Middlesex village and farm, — 
A cry of defiance and not of fear, — 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE l6l 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 
And a word that shall echo forevermore ! 
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 
Through all our history, to the last, 
In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 
And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 



II. AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. 

Alice Cary. 

Light touch. Emotional content a leading feature. 

O good painter, tell me true, 

Has your hand the cunning to draw 
Shapes of things you never saw? 

Ay? Well, here is an order for you. 

Woods and cornfields, a little brown, — 
The picture must not be over-bright, 
Yet all in the golden and gracious light 

Of a cloud, when the summer sun is down. 
Alway and alway, night and morn, 
Woods upon woods, with fields of corn 
Lying between them, not quite sere, 

And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom, 

When the wind can hardly find breathing-room 
Under their tassels, — cattle near, 

Biting shorter the short green grass, 
And a hedge of sumach and sassafras, 
With bluebirds twittering all around, — 
(Ah, good painter, you can't paint sound !) 

These, and the house where I was born, 
Low and little, and black and old, 
With children, many as it can hold, 
All at the windows, open wide, — 
Heads and shoulders clear outside, 



l62 PUBLIC SPEAKING 

And fair young faces all ablush : 

Perhaps you may have seen, some day, 
Roses crowding the self-same way, 

Out of a wilding, wayside bush 

Listen closer. When you have done 

With woods and cornfields and grazing herds, 

A lady, the loveliest ever the sun 
Looked down upon, you must paint for me ; 
Oh, if I only could make you see 

The clear blue eyes, the tender smile, 
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace, 
The woman's soul, and the angel's face, 

That are beaming on me all the while, 

I need not speak these foolish words : 

Yet one word tells you all I would say, — 
She is my mother : you will agree 

That all the rest may be thrown away. 

Two little urchins at her knee 
You must paint, sir ; one like me, 
The other with a clearer brow, 

And the light of his adventurous eyes 

Flashing with boldest enterprise : 
At ten years old he went to sea, — 
God knoweth if he be living now ; 

He sailed in the good ship " Commodore," — 
Nobody ever crossed her track 
To bring us news, and she never came back. 

Ah, 'tis twenty long years and more 
Since that old ship went out of the bay 

With my great-hearted brother on her deck : 

I watched him till he shrank to a speck, 
And his face was towards me all the way. 
Bright his hair was, a golden brown, 

The time we stood at our mother's knee : 
That beauteous head, if it did go down, 

Carried sunshine into the sea ! 

Out in the fields one summer night 
We were together, half afraid 



ELEMENTS OF ELEGANCE 163 

Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade 
Of the high hills, stretching so still and far, — 
Loitering till after the low little light 

Of the candle shone through the open door. 

Afraid to go home, sir ; for one of us bore 
A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs : 
The other, a bird, held fast by the legs, 
Not so big as a straw of wheat : 
The berries we gave her she wouldn't eat, 
But cried and cried, till we held her bill, 
So slim and shining, to keep her still. 

At last we stood at our mother's knee. 

Do you think, sir, if you try, 

You could paint the look of a lie ? 

If you can, pray have the grace 

To put it solely in the face 
Of the urchin that is likest me : 

I think 'twas solely mine, indeed : 
But that's no matter, — paint it so ; 

The eyes of my mother — (take good heed) 
Looking not on the nestful of eggs, 
Nor the fluttering bird held so fast by the legs, 
But straight through our faces down to our lies, 
And oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise ! 

I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though 

A sharp blade struck through it. 

You, sir, know 
That you on the canvas are to repeat 
Things that are fairest, things most sweet, — 
Woods and cornfields and mulberry-tree, — 
The mother, — the lads, with their bird, at her knee : 

But, oh, that look of reproachful woe ! 
High as the heavens your name Til shout, 
If you paint me the picture, and leave that out. 

iph fo 

ith-"- 



1 1 



SELECTIONS 



SKILL AND BEAUTY IN ART. 

John Ruskin. 
From The Relation of Use to Art in " The Crown of Wild Olive." 

Now, I pray you to observe — for though I have said this often 
before, I have never yet said it clearly enough — every good piece 
of art . . . involves first essentially the evidence of human skill, 
and the formation of an actually beautiful thing by it. 

Skill and beauty always, then ; and, beyond these, the formative 
arts have always been one or other of the two objects which I have 
just defined to you — truth, or serviceableness ; and without these 
aims neither the skill nor their beauty will avail ; only by these can 
either legitimately reign. All the graphic arts begin in keeping the 
outline of shadow that we have loved, and they end in giving to it 
the aspect of life ; and all the architectural arts begin in the shap- 
ing of the cup and the platter, and they end in a glorified roof. 

Therefore, you see, in the graphic arts you have skill, beauty, 
and likeness ; and in the architectural arts, skill, beauty, and use ; 
and you must have the three in each group, balanced and co-ordi- 
nate ; and all the chief errors of art consist in losing or exaggerat- 
ing one of these elements. 

For instance, almost the whole system and hope of modern life 
are founded on the notion that you may substitute mechanism for 
skill, photograph for picture, cast-iron for sculpture. That is your 
main nineteenth-century faith, or infidelity. You think you can get 
everything by grinding — music, literature, and painting. You will 

165 



l66 SELECTIONS 

find it grievously not so ; you can get nothing but dust by mere 
grinding. Even to have the barley-meal out of it, you must have 
the barley first ; and that comes by growth, not grinding. But 
essentially, we have lost our delight in skill ; in p that majesty of it 
which I was trying to make clear to you in my last address, and 
which long ago I tried to express, under the head of ideas of power. 
The entire sense of that we have lost, because w r e ourselves do not 
take pains enough to do right, and have no conception of what the 
right costs ; so that all the joy and reverence we ought to feel in 
looking at a strong man's work, have ceased in us. We keep them 
yet a little in looking at a honeycomb or a bird's nest ; w T e under- 
stand that these differ, by divinity of skill, from a lump of wax or a 
cluster of sticks. But a picture, w r hich is a much more wonderful 
thing than a honeycomb or a bird's nest — have we not known 
people, and sensible people too, who expected to be taught to pro- 
duce that in six lessons? 



THE BOSTON MASSACRE. 

Bancroft. 

i. On Friday the 2d of March, 1770, a British soldier of the 
Twenty-ninth Regiment asked to be employed at Gray's rope- 
walk, and was repulsed in the coarsest words. He then defied the 
rope-makers to a boxing match ; and one of them accepting his 
challenge, he was beaten off. Returning with several of his com- 
panions, they too were driven away. A larger number came down 
to renew the fight with clubs and cutlasses, and in their turn 
encountered defeat. 

2. There was an end to the affair at the rope-walk, but not at 
the barracks, where the soldiers inflamed each other's passions, as 
if the honor of the regiment had been tarnished. 

3. On Saturday they prepared bludgeons ; and being resolved to 

# 



THE BOSTON MASSACRE 1 67 

brave the citizens on Monday night, they forewarned their partic- 
ular acquaintances not to be abroad. 

4. Evening came on. The young moon was shining in a cloud- 
less winter sky, and its light was increased by a new-fallen snow. 
Parties of soldiers were driving about the streets, making a parade 
of valor, challenging resistance, and striking the inhabitants indis- 
criminately with sticks or sheathed cutlasses. 

5. A band which rushed out from the barracks in Brattle Street, 
armed with clubs, cutlasses, and bayonets, provoked resistance: 
and an affray ensued. An ensign at the gate of the barrack-yard 
cried to the soldiers, "Turn out, and I will stand by you; kill 
them : stick them ; knock them down ; run your bayonets through 
them ! " And one soldier after another levelled a firelock, and 
threatened to "make a lane" through the crowd. 

6. Just before nine, as an officer crossed King Street, a barber's 
lad cried after him, " There goes a mean fellow who hath not paid 
my master for dressing his hair ; n on which a sentinel left his post, 
and with his musket gave the boy a stroke on the head which made 
him stagger and cry for pain. 

7. The street soon became clear, and nobody troubled the sen- 
try, when a party of soldiers issued violently from the main guard, 
their arms glittering in the moonlight, and passed on hallooing, 
"Where are they? where are they? let them come ! " 

8. " Pray, soldiers, spare my life ! " cried a boy of twelve, whom 
they met. " Xo, no ; we will kill you all ! " answered one of them, 
and knocked him down with his cutlass. They abused and insulted 
several persons at their doors, and others in the street, running 
about like madmen in a fury, crying, " Fire ! " which seemed their 
watchword, and, "Where are they? knock them down ! " Their 
outrageous behavior occasioned the ringing of the bell at the head 
of King Street. 

9. The citizens whom the alarm set in motion came out with 
canes and clubs ; a body of soldiers also came up, crying, " Where 



1 68 SELECTIONS 

are the cowards ? " and brandishing their arms. From ten to 
twenty boys came after them, asking, "Where are they? where 
are they?" " There is the soldier who knocked me down," said 
the barber's boy ; and they began pushing one another towards the 
sentinel. He primed and loaded his musket. 

10. " The lobster is going to fire, 11 cried a boy. Waving his 
piece about, the sentinel pulled the trigger. "If you fire, you 
must die for it," said one who was passing by. "I don't care," 
replied the sentry; " if they touch me, I will fire." "Fire away!" 
shouted the boys, persuaded he could not do it without leave from 
a civil oificer ; and a young fellow spoke out, " We will knock him 
down for snapping," while they whistled through their fingers and 
huzzaed. 

ii. "Stand off," said the sentry, and shouted aloud, "Turn 
out, main guard!" "They are killing the sentinel," reported a 
servant, running to the main guard. "Turn out; why don't you 
turn out?" cried Preston, who was captain of the day to the guard. 
A party of six formed with a corporal in front, and Preston follow- 
ing. With bayonets fixed, they haughtily rushed through the 
people, upon the trot, cursing them, and pushing them as they 
went along. 

12. They found about ten persons round the sentry, while about 
fifty or sixty came down with them. " For God^ sake," said a 
citizen, holding Preston by the coat, " take your men back again ; 
if they fire, your life must answer for the consequences." " I know 
what I am about," said he hastily, and much agitated. 

13. None pressed on them or provoked them till they began 
loading ; when a party about twelve in number, with sticks in their 
hands, moved from the middle of the street, where they had been 
standing, gave three cheers, and passed along in front of the sol- 
diers, whose muskets some of them struck as they went by. " You 
are cowardly rascals," said they, " for bringing arms against naked 
men. Lay aside your guns, and we are ready for you. Come on, 



THE BOSTON MASSACRE 169 

you lobster scoundrels ; fire, if you dare ; we know you dare 
not." 

14. Just then one of the soldiers received a blow from a stick 
thrown, which hit his musket ; and the word " Fire ! " being given, 
he stepped a little on one side, and shot a mulatto, who at the time 
was quietly leaning on a long stick. 

15. The people immediately began to move off. The rest fired 
slowly and in succession on the people who were dispersing. One 
aimed deliberately at a boy who was running for safety. Three per- 
sons were killed ; eight were wounded, two of them mortally. Of 
all the eleven, not more than one had any share in the disturbance. 

16. So infuriated were the soldiers that, when the men returned 
to take up the dead, they prepared to fire again, but were checked 
by Preston ; while the Twenty-ninth Regiment appeared under 
arms in King Street, as if bent on a further massacre. "This is 
our time," cried the soldiers ; and dogs were never seen more 
greedy for their prey. 

17. The bells rung in all the churches; the town drums beat. 
"To arms! to arms!" was the cry. And now was to be tested 
the true character of Boston. All its sons came forth, excited almost 
to madness ; many were absolutely distracted by the sight of the 
dead bodies and of the blood, which ran plentifully in the streets, 
and was imprinted in all directions by the foot-tracks on the snow. 

18. " Our hearts," says Warren, " beat to arms, almost re- 
solved by one stroke to avenge the death of our slaughtered breth- 
ren. 1 ' But they stood self-possessed and irresistible, demanding 
justice according to law. 

19. The people would not be pacified till the regiment was con- 
fined to the guard-room and the barracks ; and the governor himself 
gave assurance that instant inquiries should be made by the county 
magistrates. A warrant was issued against Preston, who surren- 
dered himself to the sheriff: and the soldiers who composed the 
party were delivered up and committed to prison. 



170 SELECTIONS 

RIP VAN WINKLE'S AWAKENING. 

Irving. 

Part I. 

1 . On waking, Rip found himself on the green knoll overlooking 
the glen. He rubbed his eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. 
The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the 
eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. 
" Surely," thought Rip, " I have not slept here all night." 

2. He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep — the 
mountain ravine — the party at nine-pins — the flagon. " Oh ! that 
wicked flagon!" thought Rip; "what excuse shall I make to 
Dame Van Winkle?" 

3. He looked round for his gun ; but, in place of the clean, well- 
oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel 
incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, the stock worm-eaten: He 
now suspected that the grave roisters of the mountain had put a 
trick upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, robbed him of 
his gun. 

4. Wolf, too, had disappeared ; but he might have strayed away 
after a squirrel or a partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted 
his name, but all in vain ; the echoes repeated his whistle and 
shout, but no dog was to be seen. 

5. He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gam- 
bol, and, if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and 
gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and 
wanting in his usual activity. " These mountain beds do not 
agree with me," thought Rip ; " and if this frolic should lay me up 
with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with 
Dame Van Winkle." 

6. With some difficulty he got down into the glen. He found the 
gully up which he had ascended the preceding evening ; but to his 
astonishment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping 
from rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. 



RIP VAX WINKLE S AWAKENING 171 

7. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working 
his toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch- 
hazel; and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild grape- 
vines that twisted their coils and tendrils from tree to tree, and 
spread a kind of network in his path. 

8. Here poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and 
whistled after his dog ; he was answered only by the cawing of a 
flock of idle crows, which were sporting high in air about a withered 
tree that overhung a sunny precipice, and which, secure in their 
elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man's per- 
plexities. 

9. What was to be done? The morning was passing away, and 
Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up 
his dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife ; but it would not do 
to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered 
the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, 
turned his steps homeward. 

10. As he approached the village he met a number of people, 
but none whom he knew ; which somewhat surprised him, for he 
had thought himself acquainted with every one in the country round. 
Their dress, too, w r as of a different fashion from that to which he 
was accustomed. 

1 1 . They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise ; and, 
whenever they cast eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. 
The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip involuntarily 
to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had 
grown a foot long ! 

12. He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of 
strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing 
at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized 
for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very 
village was altered ; it was larger and more populous. 

13. There were rows of houses which he had never seen before ; 



172 SELECTIONS 

and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. 
Strange names were over the doors ; strange faces at the windows ; 
everything was strange. His mind now misgave him ; he began 
to doubt whether both he and the world around him were not be- 
witched. 

14. Surely this was his native village, which he had left but a 
day before. There stood the Catskill Mountains ; there ran the 
silver Hudson at a distance ; there was every hill and dale precisely 
as it had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. "That flagon 
last night," thought he, " has addled my poor head sadly ! " 

15. It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own 
house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every mo- 
ment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the 
house gone to decay ; the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, 
and the doors off the hinges. 

16. A half-starved dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking 
about it. Rip called him by name ; but the cur snarled, showed his 
teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. " My very 
dog," sighed poor Rip, " has forgotten me ! " 

17. He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van 
Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and 
apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his con- 
nubial fears. He called loudly for his wife and children. The 
lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and then all 
again was silence. 



RIP VAN WINKLE'S AWAKENING. 
Part II 

18. He now hurried forth and hastened to his old resort, the 
village inn ; but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building 
stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them 



RIP VAN WINKLES AWAKENING 1/3 

broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats ; and over the 
door was painted, " The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." 

19. Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little 
Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall, naked pole, with 
something on the top that looked like a red night-cap ; and from it 
was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars 
and stripes. All this was strange and incomprehensible. 

20. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King 
George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe ; but 
even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was 
changed for one of blue and buff; a sword was held in the hand 
instead of a sceptre : the head was decorated with a cocked 
hat ; and underneath was painted in large characters, General 
Washington. 

21. There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but 
none that Rip recollected. The very character of the people 
seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone 
about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. 
He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad 
face, double chin, and fair, long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco 
smoke instead of idle speeches ; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, 
doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. 

22. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his 
pockets full of hand-bills, was haranguing vehemently about rights 
of citizens — election — members of Congress — liberty — Bunker's 
Hill —heroes of seventy-six — and other words that were a perfect 
jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. 

23. The appearance of Rip with his long, grizzled beard, his 
rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of women and 
children that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted the attention 
of the tavern politicians. 

24. They crowded round him, eying him from head to foot 
with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and drawing 



174 SELECTIONS 

him partly aside, inquired "on which side he voted. 1 ' Rip started 
in vacant stupidity. 

25. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, 
and rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear whether he was Federal or 
Democrat. 

26. Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend this question ; when 
a knowing, self-important old gentleman in a sharp cocked hat 
made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right and the 
left with his elbows as he passed ; and planting himself before Van 
Winkle, with one arm a-kimbo, the other resting on his cane, his 
keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating as it were into his very soul, 
demanded, in an austere tone, what brought him to the election 
with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether 
he meant to breed a riot in the village. 

27. " Alas ! gentlemen, " cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, " I am 
a poor, quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the 
king, God bless him ! " 

28. Here a general shout burst from the by-standers, " A tory ! 
a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him ! " It was 
with great difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat 
restored order ; and having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, 
demanded again of the unknown culprit what he came there for, 
and whom he was seeking. 

29. The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, 
but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors who used 
to keep about the tavern. 

30. " Well, who are they? Name them." Rip bethought him- 
self a moment, and inquired, " Where is Nicholas Vedder?" 

31. There was silence for a little while, when an old man replied, 
in a thin, piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder? why he is dead and 
gone these eighteen years ! There was a wooden tombstone in the 
church-yard that used to tell about him, but that is rotten and gone 
too." 



RIP VAN WINKLES AWAKENING 175 

32. "Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster? 11 — "He went 
off to the wars, was a great militia general, and is now in Con- 
gress." 

33. Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his 
home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. 
Every answer puzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous 
lapses of time, and of matters which he could not understand. 
War — Congress ! — he had no courage to ask after any more of 
his friends, but cried out in despair, "Does nobody here know 
Rip Van Winkle ? " 

34. " Oh, Rip Van Winkle ! " exclaimed two or three, " oh, to 
be sure ! that is Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree. 1 ' 

35. Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he 
went up to the mountain ; apparently as lazy, and certainly as 
ragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He 
doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another 
man. In the midst of his bewilderment the man in the cocked 
hat demanded who he was, and what was his name. 

36. "God knows!" exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not 
myself — I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no — that's 
somebody else, got into my shoes — I was myself last night, but I 
fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed my gun, and 
everything's changed, and I'm changed, and I can't tell w r hat's my 
name, or who I am ! " 

37. The by-standers now began to look at each other, nod, wink 
significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There 
was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old 
fellow from doing mischief; at the very suggestion of which the self- 
important man w r ith the cocked hat retired with some precipitation. 

38. At this critical moment, a fresh, comely woman passed 
through the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She 
had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, 
began to cry. " Hush, Rip," cried she ; " hush, you little fool ; the 



I76 SELECTIONS 

old man will not hurt you." The name of the child, the air of the 
mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections 
in his mind. 

39. "What is your name, my good woman?" asked he. 
" Judith Gardener." — " And your father's name ? " 

40. " Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle. It is twenty 
years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has 
been heard of since. His dog came home without him ; but whether 
he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can 
tell. I was then but a little girl." 

41 . Rip had but one question more to ask, but he put it with a 
faltering voice : " Where is your mother?" — " Oh, she, too, had 
died but a short time since ; she broke a blood-vessel in a fit of 
passion at a New England pedler." 

42. There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. 
The honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his 
daughter and her child in his arms. " lam your father ! " cried he ; 
" young Rip Van Winkle once — old Rip Van Winkle now ! Does 
nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle? " 

43. All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from 
among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and, peering under it 
in his face for a moment, exclaimed, " Sure enough ! it is Rip Van 
Winkle — it is himself. Welcome home again, old neighbor. 
Why, where have you been these twenty long years?" 

44. Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had 
been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared when they 
heard it ; some were seen to wink at each other, and put their 
tongues in their cheeks ; and the self-important man in the cocked 
hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, 
screwed down the corners of his mouth, and shook his head ; upon 
which there was a general shaking of the heads throughout the 
assemblage. 



TOM PINCH S JOURNEY TO LONDON 1 77 

TOM PINCH'S JOURNEY TO LONDON. 

Charles Dickens. 

i . It might have confused a less modest man than Tom Pinch 
to find himself sitting next that coachman ; for, of all the swells 
that ever flourished a whip professionally, he might have been 
elected emperor. He did not handle his gloves like another man, 
but put them on — even when he was standing on the pavement, 
quite detached from the coach — as if the four grays were, some- 
how or other, at the ends of his fingers. 

2. It was the same with his hat. He did things with his hat 
which nothing but an unlimited knowledge of horses, and the 
wildest freedom of the road, could ever have made him perfect in. 
Valuable little parcels were brought to him with particular instruc- 
tions, and he pitched them into his hat, and stuck it on again, as 
if the laws of gravity did not admit of such an event as its being 
knocked off or blown off, and nothing like an accident could befall it. 

3. The guard, too ! Seventy breezy miles a day were written in 
his very whiskers. His manners were a canter; his conversation a 
round trot. He was a fast coach upon a down-hill turnpike-road ; 
he was all pace. A wagon could not have moved slowly with that 
guard and his key-bugle upon the top of it. 

4. These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom thought, as 
he sat upon the box and looked about him. Such a coachman and 
such a guard never could have existed between Salisbury and any 
other place. The coach w r as none of your steady-going coaches, 
but a swaggering, dissipated London coach ; up all night, and lying 
by all day. 

5. It cared no more for Salisbury than if it had been a hamlet. 
It rattled noisily through the best streets, defied the cathedral, took 
the worst corners sharpest, went cutting in everywhere, making 
everything get out of its way, and spun along the open country 



I78 SELECTIONS 

road, blowing a lively defiance out of its key-bugle, as its last part- 
ing legacy. 

6. It was a charming evening, mild and bright. Tom could not 
resist the captivating sense of rapid motion through the pleasant 
air. The four grays skimmed along as if they liked it quite as well 
as Tom did; the bugle was in as high spirits as the grays; the 
coachman chimed in sometimes with his voice ; the wheels hummed 
cheerfully in unison ; the brass work on the harness was an orches- 
tra of little bells ; and thus as they went clinking, jingling, rattling 
smoothly on, the whole concern, from the buckles of the leaders' 
coupling-reins to the handle of the hind boot, was one great instru- 
ment of music. 

7. Yoho ! past hedges, gates, and trees ; past cottages and barns 
and people going home from work. Yoho ! past donkey-chaises 
drawn aside into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses, 
whipped up at a bound upon the little water-course, and held by 
struggling carters close to the five-barred gate, until the coach had 
passed the narrow turning in the road. 

8. Yoho ! by churches dropped down by themselves in quiet 
nooks, with rustic burying-grounds about them, where the graves 
are green, and daisies sleep — for it is evening— on the bosom of 
the dead. 

9. Yoho ! past streams in which the cattle cool their feet, and 
where the rushes grow ; past paddock-fences, farms, and rick-yards ; 
past last year's stacks, cut slice by slice away, and showing in the 
waning light like ruined gables, old and brown. Yoho ! down the 
pebbly dip and through the merry water-splash ; and up at a canter 
to the level road again. 

10. Away with four fresh horses from the Bald-faced Stag, where 
topers congregate about the door admiring ; and the last team, with 
traces hanging loose, go roaming off toward the pond, until ob- 
served and shouted after by a dozen throats, while volunteering 
boys pursue them. Now, with a clattering of hoofs and striking 



THE CLOUD 179 

out of fiery sparks, across the old stone bridge, and down again 
into the shadowy road, and through the open gate, and far away, 
away into the wold. Yoho ! 

11. See the bright moon ! High up before we know it ; making 
the earth reflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges, 
trees, low cottages, church-steeples, blighted stumps, and flourish- 
ing young slips have all grown vain upon the sudden, and mean to 
contemplate their own fair images till morning. The poplars yon- 
der, rustle, that their quivering leaves may see themselves upon 
the ground. Not so the oak; trembling does not become him; 
and he watches himself in his stout old burly steadfastness, with- 
out the motion of a twig. 

12. The beauty of the night is hardly felt when day comes leap- 
ing up. Yoho! past market-gardens, rows of houses, villas, ter- 
races, and squares ; past wagons, coaches, and carts ; past early 
workmen, late stragglers, drunken men, and sober carriers of loads ; 
past brick and mortar in its every shape, and in among the rattling 
pavements, where a jaunty seat upon a coach is not so easy to pre- 
serve. Yoho ! down countless turnings, until an old inn yard is 
gained : and Tom Pinch, getting down quite stunned and giddy, is 
in London. 



THE CLOUD. 

Percy B. Shelley. 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams ; 

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one. 

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 



l80 SELECTIONS 

I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
And whiten the green plains under ; 
And then again I dissolve it in rain, 
And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 

And their great pines groan aghast ; 

And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 

Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, 

Lightning, my pilot, sits ; 

In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 

It struggles and howls at fits ; 

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 

Lured by the love of the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea ; 

Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 

Over the lakes and the plains, 

Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The Spirit he loves remains ; 

And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 

Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 

And his burning plumes outspread, 

Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 

When the morning star shines dead, 

As on the jag of a mountain crag, 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 

An eagle alit one moment may sit 

In the light of its golden wings. 

And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, 

Its ardors of rest and of love, 

And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depth of heaven above, 

With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, 

As still as a brooding dove. 



THE CLOUD l8l 

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, 

Whom mortals call the moon, 

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, 

By the midnight breezes strewn ; 

And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear, 

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer. 

And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 

Like a swarm of golden bees, 

When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 

Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 



I find the sums throne with a burning zone, 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl, 

From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea, 

Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, — 

The mountains its columns be. 

The triumphal arch through which I march, 

With hurricane, fire, and snow, 

When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, 

Is the million-colored bow ; 

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of earth and water, 

And the nursling of the sky ; 

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; 

I change, but I cannot die. 

For after the rain, when with never a stain 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 

And the w T inds and sunbeams with their convex gleams 

Build up the blue dome of air, 



l82 SELECTIONS 

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 

I arise and unbuild it again. 



PUBLIC DISHONESTY. 

Henry Ward Beecher. 

A corrupt public sentiment produces dishonesty. A public sen- 
timent in which dishonesty is not disgraceful, in which bad men are 
respectable, are trusted, are honored, are exalted, is a curse to the 
young. The fever of speculation, the universal derangement of 
business, the growing laxness of morals, is, to an alarming extent, 
introducing such a state of things. 

If the shocking stupidity of the public mind to atrocious dis- 
honesties is not aroused ; if good men do not bestir themselves to 
drag the young from this foul sorcery ; if the relaxed bands of 
honesty are not tightened, and conscience tutored to a severer 
morality, — our night is at hand, our midnight not far off. Woe 
to that guilty people who sit down upon broken laws, and wealth 
saved by injustice ! Woe to a generation fed by the bread of fraud, 
whose children's inheritance shall be a perpetual memento of their 
fathers' unrighteousness ; to whom dishonesty shall be made pleas- 
ant by association with the revered memories of father, brother, 
and friend ! 

But when a whole people, united by a common disregard of jus- 
tice, conspire to defraud public creditors ; and States vie with 
States in an infamous repudiation of just debts, by open or sinister 
methods ; and nations exert their sovereignty to protect and dignify 
the knavery of the Commonwealth ; then the confusion of domestic 
affairs has bred a fiend, before whose flight honor fades away, and 
under whose feet the sanctity of truth and the religion of solemn 
compacts are stamped down and ground into the dirt. Need we 



PUBLIC DISHONESTY I 83 

ask the cause of growing dishonesty among the young, the increas- 
ing untrustworthiness of all agents, when States are seen clothed 
with the panoply of dishonesty, and nations put on fraud for their 
garments? 

Absconding agents, swindling schemes, and defalcations, occur- 
ring in such melancholy abundance, have at length ceased to be 
wonders, and rank with the common accidents of fire and flood. 
The budget of each week is incomplete without its mob and run- 
away cashier, its duel and defaulter ; and as waves which roll to 
the shore are lost in those w T hich follow on, so the villanies of each 
week obliterate the record of the last. 

Men of notorious immorality, whose dishonesty is flagrant, 
w T hose private habits would disgrace the ditch, are powerful and 
popular. I have seen a man stained w T ith every sin, except those 
which required courage ; into whose head I do not think a pure 
thought has entered for forty years ; into whose heart an honorable 
feeling would droop for very loneliness ; — in evil he was ripe and 
rotten; hoary and depraved in deed, in word, in his present life, 
and in all his past ; evil when by himself, and viler among men ; 
corrupting to the young; — to domestic fidelity, a recreant ; to com- 
mon honor, a traitor ; to honesty, an outlaw ; to religion, a hypo- 
crite ; — base in all that is worthy of man, and accomplished in 
whatever is disgraceful ; and yet this wretch could go where he 
would; enter good men's dwellings, and purloin their votes. Men 
w r ould curse him, yet obey him; hate him, and assist him; warn 
their sons against him. and lead them to the polls for him. A 
public sentiment which produces ignominious knaves cannot breed 
honest men. 

We have not yet emerged from a period in which debts are in- 
secure ; the debtor legally protected against the rights of the credi- 
tor; taxes laid, not by the requirements of justice, but for political 
effect, and lowered to a dishonest inefficiency ; and when thus 
diminished, not collected : the citizens resisting their own officers ; 



184 SELECTIONS 

officers resigning at the bidding of the electors ; the laws of prop- 
erty paralyzed ; bankrupt laws built up ; and stay-laws unconstitu- 
tionally enacted, upon which the courts look with aversion, vet 
fear to deny them, lest the wildness of popular opinion should roll 
back disdainfully upon the bench, to despoil its dignity, and pros- 
trate its power. General suffering has made us tolerant of general 
dishonesty ; and the gloom of our commercial disaster threatens 
to become the pall of our morals. 



ELOQUENCE. 

Webster. 

When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa- 
sions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, 
nothing is valuable in speech further than it is connected with high 
intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnest- 
ness are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, 
indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from 
afar. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. 
Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they can- 
not compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in 
the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of 
declamation, all may aspire after it ; they cannot reach it. It 
comes, if it comes at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the 
earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, 
original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly 
ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust 
men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their chil- 
dren, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then 
words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate ora- 
tory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and sub- 
dued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is 
eloquent ; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, 



the orator's art 185 

outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm re- 
solve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from 
the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, 
right onward to his object, — this, this is Eloquence, or rather it is 
something greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is Action, 
noble, sublime, God-like Action. 



THE ORATOR'S ART. 

J. Q. Adams. 

The eloquence of the college is like the discipline of a review. 
The art of war, we are all sensible, does not consist in manoeuvres 
on a training-day : nor the steadfastness of the soldier in the hour 
of battle, in the drilling of his orderly sergeant. Yet the superior 
excellence of the veteran army is exemplified in nothing more for- 
cibly than in the perfection of its discipline. It is in the heat of 
action, upon the field of blood, that the fortune of the day may be 
decided by the exactness of manual exercise ; and the art of display- 
ing a column, or directing a charge, may turn the balance of vic- 
tory, and change the history of the world. The application of these 
observations is as direct to the art of oratory as to that of war. 
The exercises to which you are here accustomed are not intended 
merely for the display of the talents you have acquired. They are 
instruments put into your hands for future use. Their object is not 
barely to prepare you for the composition and delivery of an ora- 
tion to amuse an idle hour on some public anniversary. It is to 
give you a clew for the labyrinth of legislation in the public coun- 
cils ; a spear for the conflict of judicial w^ar in the public tribunals ; 
a sword for the field of religious and moral victory in the pulpit. 



1 86 SELECTIONS 



FROM HENRY V. 

Shakespeare. 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 

Or close the wall up with our English dead. 

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 

As modest stillness, and humility; 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 

Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 

Disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage : 

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 

Let it pry through the portage of the head 

Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it 

As fearfully as doth a galled rock 

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 

SwhTd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, 

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 

To his full height. 

HERVE RIEL. 

Robert Browning. 

Part I. 

i. 

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, 

Did the English fight the French — woe to France ! 
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, 
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, 
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Ranee, 
With the English fleet in view. 

n. 
'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase. 
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville ; 



HERVE KIEL 1 87 

Close on him fled, great and small, 
Twenty-two good ships in all ; 
And they signalled to the place, 
" Help the winners of a race ! 
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — or, quicker still 
Here's the English can and will ! " 

in. 
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board : 
'-Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?' 1 
laughed they : 
" Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and 

scored, 
Shall the 'Formidable' here, with her twelve and eighty guns, 

Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, 
Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 
And with flow T at full beside? 
Xow 't is slackest ebb of tide. 
Reach the mooring? Rather say, 
While rock stands or water runs, 
Not a ship will leave the bay!" 



Then was called a council straight ; 

Brief and bitter the debate ; 
" Here's the English at our heels ; would you have them take in tow 
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, 

For a prize to Plymouth sound? — 

Better run the ships aground ! " 
(Ended Damfreville his speech,) 

" Not a minute more to w^ait ! 
Let the captains all and each 
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach ! 

France must undergo her fate." 

v. 

" Give the word ! " — But no such word 
Was ever spoke or heard ; 
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these — 
A captain? A lieutenant? A mate — first, second, third? 



188 SELECTIONS 

No such man of mark, and meet 
With his betters to compete? 
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet — 
A poor coasting pilot he, Herv6 Riel, the Croisickese. 

VI. 

And " What mockery or malice have we here ?." cries Herv6 Riel ; 
"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or 
rogues ? 
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell 
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 

'Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disembogues? 
Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? 
Morn and eve, night and day, 
Have I piloted your bay, 
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 

Burn the fleet, and ruin France? That were worse than fifty 

Hogues ! 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe me there's a 
way! 

VII. 

M Only let me lead the line, 

Have the biggest ship to steer, 

Get this * Formidable ' clear, 
Make the others follow mine, 
And I lead them most and least by a passage I know well, 
Right to Solidor, past Greve, 

And there lay them safe and sound ; 
And if one ship misbehave — 

Keel so much as grate the ground — 
Why, I've nothing but my life ; here's my head ! " cries Herve* Riel. 

VIII. 

Not a minute more to wait ! 
" Steer us in, then, small and great ! 
Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron ! " cried its chief. 
" Captains, give the sailor place ! 
He is admiral, in brief." 



HERVE KIEL I 89 

Still the north wind, by God's grace ; 
See the noble fellow's face 
As the big ship, with a bound, 
Clears the entry like a hound, 
Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wiae seas profound ! 

IX. 

See, safe through shoal and rock, 
How they follow in a flock ! 
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, 
Not a spar that comes to grief! 
The peril, see, is past, 
All are harbored to the last, 
And just as Herve Riel hollas, " Anchor !" — sure as fate, 
Up the English come, too late. 



Part II. 



So the storm subsides to calm ; 

They see the green trees wave 

On the heights o'erlooking Greve ; 
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm, 
" Just our rapture to enhance, 

Let the English rake the bay, 
Gnash their teeth and glare askance 

As they cannonade away ! 
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee ! " 
Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance ! 



Outburst all with one accord, 
" This is Paradise for hell ! 
Let France, let France's king, 
Thank the man that did the thing ! " 
What a shout, and all one word, 
» Herve Riel!" 



190 SELECTIONS 

As he stepped in front once more, 

Not a symptom of surprise 

In the frank blue Breton eyes — 
Just the same man as before. 

ill. 

Then said Damfreville : " My friend, 
I must speak out at the end, 

Though I find the speaking hard ; 
Praise is deeper than the lips ; 
You have saved the king his ships, 

You must name your own reward. 
Faith, our sun was near eclipse ! 
Demand whate'er you will, 
France remains your debtor still. 
Ask to heart's content, and have ! or my name's not Damfreville." 

IV. 

Then a beam of fun outbroke 
On the bearded mouth that spoke, 
As the honest heart laughed through 
Those frank eyes of Breton blue : 
" Since I needs must say my say, 
Since on board the duty's done, 
And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run? — 
Since 'tis ask and have, I may — 

Since the others go ashore — 
Come ! A good old holiday ! 
Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore ! " 
That he asked ; and that he got — nothing more. 



Name and deed alike are lost ; 
Not a pillar nor a post 

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ; 
Not a head in white and black 
On a single fishing-smack, 
In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack 
All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the 
bell. 



HAMLETS ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS IQL 

VI. 
Go to Paris ; rank on rank 

Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank ; 
You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel. 
So, for better and for worse, 
Herve Riel, accept my verse ! 
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore ! 



HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS. 

Shakespeare. 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trip- 
pingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players 
do, I had as lief the town-crier had spoken my lines. And do not 
saw the air too much with your hands, but use all gently ; for, in 
the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your 
passion, you must beget a temperance that will give it smoothness. 
Oh ! it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious, periwig-pated 
fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the 
groundlings ; who (for the most part) are capable of nothing but 
inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. Pray you avoid it. 

Be not too tame, either ; but let your own discretion be your 
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with 
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of 
nature ; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing ; 
whose end is, to hold, as it were, the mirror up to nature ; to show 
virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and 
body of the times, their form and pressure. Now, this overdone, 
or come tardy off, though it may make the unskilful laugh, cannot 
but make the judicious grieve : the censure of one of which must, 
in your allowance, overweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh ! there 
are players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that, 



1 92 SELECTIONS 

highly, — not to speak it profanely, — who, having neither the ac- 
cent of Christian, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have 
so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's jour- 
neymen had made men, and not made them well ; they imitated 
humanity so abominably. 



OTHELLO'S DEFENCE. 

Shakespeare. 
I. 

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
My very noble and approved good masters, 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
It is most true ; true, I have married her : 
The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent, no more. 

11. 

Rude am I in speech, 
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace : 
For since these arms of mine hath seven years' pith, 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used 
Their dearest action in the tented field, 
And little of this great world can I speak, 
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, 
And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, 
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver, 
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, 
What conjuration and what mighty magic, 
For such proceedings I am charged withal, 
I won his daughter with. 

in. 
Her father loved me ; oft invited me ; 
Still question'd me the story of my life, 
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
That I have pass'd. 



OTHELLO S DEFENCE I93 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 

To the very moment that he bade me tell it ; 

Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 

Of moving accidents by flood and field. 

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, 

Of being taken by the insolent foe 

And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence 

And with it all my travels' history. 

IV. 

These things to hear 
Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence : 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
But not intentively. 

v. 

I did consent, 
And often did beguile her of her tears. 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 
'T was pitiful, *t was wondrous pitiful : 
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd 
That heaven had made her such a man : 

VI. 

She thank'd me, 
And bade me if I had a friend that loved her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake : 
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, 
And I loved her that she did pity them. 
This onlv is the witchcraft I have used. 



194 SELECTIONS 



THE SCHOLAR IN A REPUBLIC. 

Wendell Phillips. 

This extract is taken from the oration before the Phi Beta Kappa of Harvard 

College. 

Standing on Saxon foundations, and inspired, perhaps, in some 
degree, by Latin example, we have done what no race, no nation, 
no age, had before dared even to try. We have founded a republic 
on the unlimited suffrage of the millions. We have actually worked 
out the problem that man, as God created him, may be trusted with 
self-government. We have shown the world that a church with- 
out a bishop, and a state without a king, is an actual, real, everyday 
possibility. ... 

We have not only established a new measure of the possibilities 
of the race : we have laid on strength, wisdom, and skill, a new re- 
sponsibility. Grant that each man's relations to God and his 
n eighbor are exclusively his own concern, and that he is entitled 
to all the aid that will make him the best judge of these relations ; 
that the people are the source of all power, and their measureless 
capacity the lever of all progress ; their sense of right the court of 
final appeal in civil affairs ; the institutions they create the only 
ones any power has a right to impose ; that the attempt of one class 
to prescribe the law, the religion, the morals, or the trade of an- 
other is both unjust and harmful, — and the Wycliffe and Jefferson 
of history mean this if they mean anything, — then, when, in 1867, 
Parliament doubled the English franchise, Robert Lowe was right 
in affirming, amid the cheers of the House, " Now the first interest 
and duty of every Englishman is to educate the masses — our 
masters." Then, whoever sees farther than his neighbor is that 
neighbor's servant to lift him to such higher level. Then, power, 
ability, influence, character, virtue, are only trusts with which to 
serve our time. 

We all agree in the duty of scholars to help those less favored 



THE SCHOLAR IX A REPUBLIC I95 

in life, and that this duty of scholars to educate the mass is still 
more imperative in a republic, since a republic trusts the State 
wholly to the intelligence and moral sense of the people. The 
experience of the last forty years shows every man that law has no 
atom of strength, either in Boston or New Orleans, unless, and 
only so far as, public opinion endorses it : and that your life, goods, 
and good name rest on the moral sense, self-respect, and law-abid- 
ing mood of the men that walk the streets, and hardly a whit on 
the provisions of the statute book. Come, any one of you, out- 
side of the ranks of popular men, and you will not fail to find it so. 
Easy men dream that we live under a government of law. Absurd 
mistake ! We live under a government of men and newspapers. 
Your first attempt to stem dominant and keenly cherished opinions 
will reveal this to you. 

But what is education? Of course it is not book-learning. 
Book-learning does not make five per cent of that mass of common 
sense that "runs" the world, transacts its business, secures its 
progress, trebles its power over nature, works out in the long run 
a rough, average justice, wears away the world's restraints, and 
lifts off its burdens. The ideal Yankee, who " has more brains in 
his hand than others have in their skulls,' 1 is not a scholar; and 
two thirds of the inventions that enable France to double the 
world's sunshine, and make Old and Xew England the workshops 
of the world, did not come from colleges or from minds trained in 
the schools of science, but struggled up, forcing their way against 
;iant obstacles, from the irrepressible instinct of untrained natural 
power. Her workshops, not her colleges, made England, for a 
while, the mistress of the world : and the hardest job her workman 
had was to make Oxford willing he should work his wonders. . . . 

I urge on college-bred men, that, as a class, they fail in republi- 
can duty when they allow others to lead in the agitation of the 
great social questions which stir and educate the age. Agitation is 
an old word with a new meaning. Sir Robert Peel, the first Eng- 



I96 SELECTIONS 

lish leader who felt himself its tool, defined it to be "marshalling 
the conscience of a nation to mould its laws." Its means are 
reason and argument, — no appeal to arms. Wait patiently for the 
growth of public opinion. That secured, then every step taken is 
taken forever. An abuse once removed never reappears in history. 
The freer a nation becomes, the more utterly democratic in its form, 
the more need of this outside agitation. Parties and sects laden 
with the burden of securing their own success cannot afford to risk 
new ideas. " Predominant opinions," said Disraeli, " are the 
opinions of a class that is vanishing." The agitator must stand 
outside of organizations, with no bread to earn, no candidate to 
elect, no party to save, no object but truth, — to tear a question 
open, and riddle it with light. . . . 

Let us inaugurate a new departure, recognize that we are afloat 
on the current of Niagara, — eternal vigilance the condition of our 
safety, — that we are irrevocably pledged to the world not to go 
back to bolts and bars, — could not if we would, and would not if 
we could. Never again be ours the fastidious scholarship that 
shrinks from rude contact with the masses. Very pleasant it is to 
sit high up in the world's theatre and criticise the ungraceful strug- 
gles of the gladiators, shrug one's shoulders at the actor's harsh 
cries, and let every one know that but for " this villainous saltpetre 
you would yourself have been a soldier." But Bacon says, " In the 
theatre of man's life, God and his angels only should be lookers- 
on." Sin is not taken out of man as Eve was out of Adam, by put- 
ting him to sleep. " Very beautiful," says Richter, "is the eagle 
when he floats with outstretched wings aloft in the clear blue ; but 
sublime when he plunges down through the tempest to his eyrie 
on the cliff, where his unfledged young ones dwell and are star- 
ving." If the Alps, piled in cold and silence, be the emblem of 
despotism, we joyfully take the ever-restless ocean for ours, — 
only pure because never still. . . . 

To be as good as our fathers, we must be better. They silenced 



THE PROBLEM OF THE NEW SOUTH 197 

their fears and subdued their prejudices, inaugurating free speech 
and equality with no precedent on the file. Europe shouted 
"Madmen! "and gave us forty years for the shipwreck. With 
serene faith they persevered. Let us rise to their level. Crush 
appetite and prohibit temptation if it rots great cities. Intrench 
labor in sufficient bulwarks against that wealth, which, without the 
tenfold strength of modern incorporation, wrecked the Grecian and 
Roman States; and, with a sterner effort still, summon women into 
civil life as re-enforcement to our laboring ranks in the effort to 
make our civilization a success. 

THE PROBLEM OF THE NEW SOUTH. 

H. W. Grady. 

This extract is taken from Mr. Grady, speech before ^the Merchants' Association 
of Boston, December, 1889. (By permission of Cassell Pub. Co., N.* .) 

MY people, your brothers in the South -brothers in blood, in 
destiny, in all that is best in our past and future -are so beset 
with this problem that their very existence depends upon the right 
solution. Nor are they wholly to blame for its presence. The 
slave-ships of the Republic sailed from your ports -the slaves 
worked in our fields. You will not defend the traffic, nor I the 
institution. But I do hereby declare that in its wise and humane 
administration in lifting the slave to heights of which he had not 
dreamed in savage home, and giving him a happiness he had not 
found in freedom, our fathers left their sons an excellent heritage. 
In the stress of war, this institution was lost. I thank God as 
. heartily as you do that human slavery is gone forever from Ameri- 
can soil But the freedman remains -with him, a problem with- 
out precedent or parallel. Note the appalling conditions Two 
utterly dissimilar races on the same soil, with equal political rights, 
almost equal in numbers, but terribly unequal in intellect and re- 
sponsibility ; each pledged against fusion-one for a century ,n 



ig8 SELECTIONS 

servitude to the other, and freed at last by a destructive war ; the 
experiment sought by neither, but approached by both with doubt 
— these are the conditions. Under these, adverse at every point, 
we are requested to carry these two races in peace and honor to the 
end. 

Never, sir, has such a task been given to mortal stewardship. 
Never before in this Republic has the white race divided on the 
rights of an alien race. The red man was cut down as a weed, 
because he hindered the way of the American citizen. The yellow 
man was shut out of this Republic because he was an alien and 
inferior. The red man was owner of the land, the yellow man 
highly civilized and assimilable ; but they hindered both sections, 
and they are gone. But the black man, affecting but one section, 
is clothed with every privilege of government, and pinned to the 
soil, and my people commanded to make good at any hazard, and 
at any cost, his full and equal heirship of American privilege and 
prosperity. 

It matters not that every other race has been routed, or ex- 
cluded, without rhyme or reason. It matters not that wherever the 
whites and blacks have touched in any era or in any clime, there 
has been irreconcilable violence. It matters not that no two races, 
however similar, have lived anywhere at any time on the same soil 
with equal right in peace ! In spite of these things, we are com- 
manded to make this change of American policy, which has not, 
perhaps, changed American prejudice. . . . We do not shrink from 
this trial. . . . The love we feel for that race, you can't measure 
nor comprehend. As I attest it here, the spirit of my old black 
mammy from her home up there looks down to bless ; and through 
the tumult of this night steals the sweet music of her croonings, as 
thirty years ago she held me in her black arms and led me smiling 
into sleep. This scene vanishes as I speak, and I catch the vision 
of an old Southern home with its lofty pillars and its white pigeons 
fluttering down through the golden sunshine. I see a woman with 



THE PROBLEM OF THE NEW SOUTH 1 99 

strained and anxious face, and children alert, yet helpless. I see 
night come down with its dangers and its apprehensions ; and in a 
big homely room, I feel on my tired head the touch of loving 
hands — now worn and wrinkled, but fairer to me yet than hands of 
mortal woman, and stronger yet to lead than hand of man — as 
they lay a mothers blessing there while at her knees — the truest 
altar I yet have found. I thank God she is safe in her sanctuary ; 
because her slaves, sentinel in the silent cabin, or guard at her 
chamber door, put a black man's loyalty between her and danger. 
I catch another vision — the cries of battle, a soldier struck, 
staggering, fallen. I see a slave scuffling through the smoke, wind- 
ing his black arms about the fallen form, reckless of the hurtling 
death ; bending his trusty face to catch the w r ords that tremble on 
the stricken lips ; so wrestling meantime with agony that he would 
lay down his life in his master's stead. I see him by the weary- 
bedside ministering with uncomplaining patience, praying with all 
his humble heart that God will lift his master up, until death comes 
in mercy and in honor to still the soldier's agony and seal the 
soldier's life. I see him by the open grave, mute, motionless, un- 
covered, suffering for the death of him who in life fought against 
freedom. I see him when the mound is heaped, and the great 
drama of his life is closed, turn away; and with downcast eyes and 
uncertain step, start out into new and strange fields, faltering, sigh- 
ing, but moving on until his shambling figure is lost in the light 
of this brighter and better day. And from the grave comes a 
voice, saying, "Follow him! Put your arms about him in his 
need, even as he put his arm about me. Be his friend as he was 
mine ! n And out into the new w r orld, strange to me as to him, 
dazzled, bewildered — both I follow. And may God forget my 
people when they forget these ! 



200 SELECTIONS 



THE SCHOLAR IN POLITICS. 

George William Curtis. 
Inserted by permission of Harper Bros., N. Y. 

Every educated man is aware of a profound popular distrust of 
the courage and sagacity of the educated class. " Franklin and 
Lincoln are good enough for us," exclaims this jealous scepticism ; 
as if Franklin and Lincoln did not laboriously repair by vigorous 
study the want of early opportunity. The scholar is denounced 
as a coward. Humanity falls among thieves, we are told ; and the 
college Levite, the educated Pharisee, passes by on the other side. 

Gentlemen, is this humiliating arraignment true? does the edu- 
cated class of America deserve this condemnation? Here in 
America, undoubtedly New England has inspired and moulded our 
national life. But if New England has led the Union, what has 
led New England? Her scholarly class. Her educated men. And 
our Roger Williams gave the keynote. " He has broached and 
divulged new and dangerous opinions against the authority of 
magistrates, 1 ' said Massachusetts, as she banished him. A century 
later his dangerous opinions had captured Massachusetts. Young 
Sam Adams, taking his Master's degree at Cambridge, argued that it 
was lawful to resist the supreme magistrate, if the State could not 
otherwise be preserved. Seven years afterwards, Jonathan Mayhew 
preached in Boston the famous sermon which Thornton called the 
morning gun of the Revolution, applying to the political situation 
the principles of Roger Williams. The New England pulpit echoed 
and re-echoed that morning gun; and twenty-five years later its 
warning broke into the rattle of musketry at Lexington and Con- 
cord and the glorious thunder of Bunker Hill. 

It was a son of Harvard, James Otis, who proposed the assem- 
bly of an American Congress, without asking the King's leave. It 
was a son of Yale, John Morin Scott, who declared that if taxa- 



THE SCHOLAR IN POLITICS 201 

tion without representation were to be enforced, the Colonies ought 
to separate from England. I do not forget the Virginian tongue- 
of-flame, Patrick Henry, or the minute-men at Concord. But 
everywhere they were educated men, who, in the pulpit, on the 
platform, and through the press, conducted the mighty preliminary 
argument of the Revolution, and defended liberty, until at last the 
King surrendered to the people, and educated America had saved 
constitutional liberty. 

Daily the educated class is denounced as impracticable and 
visionary. But the Constitution of the United States is the work of 
American scholars : for of the fifty-five members of the Constitu- 
tional Convention, thirty-three were graduates. And the eight 
leaders of the great debate were all college men. 

For nearly a century after, the supreme question of the govern- 
ment was the one which Jefferson had raised: "Is the Union a 
league or a nation?*' That was a debate which devoured every 
other; and in the tremendous contention, as in the war that fol- 
lowed, was the American scholar recreant and dumb? I do not ask 
whether the educated or any other class alone maintained the fight. 
I make no exclusive claim. But was the great battle fought while 
we and our guild stood passive and hostile by? 

The slavery agitation began with the moral appeal ; and as in 
the dawn of the Revolution, educated America spoke in the bugle- 
note of James Otis, so in the anti-slavery agitation, rings out the 
clear voice of a son of Otis's college, Wendell Phillips. In Con- 
gress, the commanding voice for freedom was that of the most 
learned, experienced, and courageous of American statesmen, the 
voice of a scholar and an old college professor, John Ouincy 
Adams. The burning words of Whittier scattered the sacred fire; 
Longfellow and Lowell mingled their songs with his : and Emerson 
gave to the cause the loftiest scholarly heart in the Union. When 
the national debate was angriest, while others bowed and bent 
and broke around him, the form of Charles Sumner stood erect. 



202 SELECTIONS 

"I am only six weeks behind you, 11 said Abraham Lincoln, the 
Western frontiersman to the New England scholar ; and along 
the path that the scholar blazed in the wild wilderness of civil war, 
the path of emancipation and the constitutional equality of all citi- 
zens, his country followed fast to union, peace, and prosperity. 

It would indeed be a sorrowful confession for this day and this 
assembly to own that experience proves the air of the college to 
be suffocating to generous thought and heroic action. It is the 
educated voice of the country which teaches patience in politics, 
and strengthens the conscience of the individual citizen, by show- 
ing that servility to a majority is as degrading as servility to a 
sultan. 

Brethren, here on the old altar of fervid faith and boundless anti- 
cipation, let us pledge ourselves once more, that as the courage 
and energy of educated men fired the morning gun, and led the 
contest of the Revolution, founded and framed the Union, and 
purifying it as with fire, have maintained the national life to this 
hour, so, day by day, we will do our part to lift America above the 
slough of mercenary politics and the cunning snares of trade, 
steadily forward toward the shining heights, which the hopes of 
its nativity foretold. 

HYDER ALPS REVENGE. 

Burke. 

I. When at length Hyder Ali found that he had to do with 
men who either would sign no convention, or whom no treaty and 
no signature could bind, and who were the determined enemies of 
human intercourse itself, he decreed to make the country, pos- 
sessed by these incorrigible and predestinated criminals, a memor- 
able example to mankind. He resolved, in the gloomy recesses of 
a mind capacious of such things, to leave the whole Carnatic an 
everlasting monument of vengeance, and to put perpetual desola- 



HYDER ALI S REVENGE 2C>3 

tion, as a barrier between him and those against whom the faith 
which holds the moral elements of the world together was no pro- 
tection. 

2. He became at length so confident of his force, so collected in 
his might, that he made no secret whatsoever of his dreadful reso- 
lution. Having terminated his disputes with every enemy and 
every rival, who buried their mutual animosities in their common 
detestation against the creditors of the Nabob of Arcot, he drew 
from every quarter whatever a savage ferocity could add to his 
new rudiments in the art of destruction ; and compounding all the 
materials of fury, havoc, and desolation into one black cloud, he 
hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains. Whilst the 
authors of all these evils w r ere idly and stupidly gazing on this 
menacing meteor, which blackened all their horizon, it suddenly 
burst, and poured down the whole of its contents upon the plains 
of the Carnatic. 

3. Then ensued a scene of woe, the like of which no eye had 
seen, no heart conceived, and of which no tongue can adequately 
tell. All the horrors of war before known or heard of were mercy 
to that new havoc. A storm of universal fire blasted every field, 
consumed every house, destroyed every temple. The miserable 
inhabitants, flying from their flaming villages, in part were slaugh- 
tered ; others, without regard to sex, to age, to the respect of rank 
or sacredness of function, — fathers torn from children, husbands 
from wdves, — enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the 
goading spears of drivers, and the trampling of pursuing horses, 
were swept into captivity in an unknown and hostile land. Those 
who were able to evade this tempest fled to the walled cities ; but 
escaping from fire, sw r ord, and exile, they fell into the jaws of 
famine. For eighteen months, without intermission, this destruc- 
tion raged from the gates of Madras to the gates of Tanjore ; and 
so completely did these masters of their art, Hyder Ali and his 
more ferocious son, absolve themselves of their impious vow, that, 



204 SELECTIONS 

when the British armies traversed, as they did, the Carnatic for 
hundreds of miles in all directions, through the whole line of their 
march they did not see one man, not one woman, not one child, 
not one four-footed beast of any description whatever. One dead, 
uniform silence reigned over the whole region. 



HAVELOCK'S HIGHLANDERS. 

W. Brock. 

The Highlanders had never fought in that quarter of India 
before, and their character was unknown to the foe. Their ad- 
vance has been described by spectators as a beautiful illustration 
of the power of discipline. With sloped arms and rapid tread, 
through the broken and heavy lands, and through the well-directed 
fire of artillery and musketry, linked in their unfaltering lines, they 
followed their mounted leaders, the mark for many rifles. They 
did not pause to fire ; did not even cheer. No sound from them was 
heard as that living wall came on and on, to conquer or to die. 
Now they are near the village; but the enemies occupy every house, 
and from every point a galling fire is poured on them from the heavy 
guns. The men lie down till the iron storm passes over. It was 
but for a moment. The general gave the word, " Rise up! Ad- 
vance ! " and wild cheers rang out from those brave lines, wilder 
even than their fatal fire within a hundred yards; and the pipes 
sounded the martial pibroch, heard so often as earth's latest music 
by dying men. The men sprung up the hill covered by the smoke 
of their crushing volley, almost with the speed of their own bullets ; 
over, and through all obstacles, the gleaming bayonets advanced. 
And then followed those moments of personal struggle, not often 
protracted, when the Mahratta learned, too late for life, the power 
of the Northern arm. The position was theirs. All that stood 
between them and the guns fled the field or was cut down. Gen- 



HAVELOCK S HIGHLANDERS 205 

eral Havelock was with his men. Excited by the scene, some 
letter-writers say he exclaimed, " Well done, Seventy-eight ! You 
shall be my own regiment. Another charge like that will win the 
day." 



INDEX 



Accent, 77. 

^Esthetic, 29, 131. 

Alphabetic, 77. 

Analysis, 38, 83, 140. 

Aphasia, 35. 

Associated ideas, 44, 45. 

Attention, 28, 37, 38, 68, 69. 

Atmosphere, 45, 48, 141; drill-room, 53. 

Audience, 52, 64, 68. 

Bain, Alex., 27. 
Beecher, H. W., 3. 
Bell, Sir Chas., 117. 
Bolton, T. L., 107. 

Breathing, kinds of, 94 ; diaphragmatic, 
95 ; controlled, 96. 

Chest, enlargement, 93 ; in expression, 126. 
Clearness, 27, 31. 
Climax, 114. 

Communication, 37, 70, 71. 
Confidential attitude, 73. 
Content, of language, 34, 49. 
Conversational delivery, 15, 16, 45, 65. 
Consonants, 77, 79. 
Control, 56, 60. 
^Convincing, 50, 101. 
Creation, 14, 16, 21,22. 

Darwin, 116. 

Declamatory, 15, 29, 65. 

Deference, 71. 

Deliberation, 66. 

Delivery, Principles of, 13 ; extempora- 
neous, 14 ; matter of, manner of, 
17 ; essentials of, 27 ; elements of, 
31; sources of, 31; word delivery, 
35; manuscript, 35; fluency, 37; dra- 
matic power in, 53 ; praxis in, 140. 

Delsarte, 100, 119. 

Description, 145. 

Dialectic tunes, no. 

Diaphragm, 93, 95. 

Differentiation, 39. 

Dramatic, 30. 

Drift, 112. 



Earnestness, 50, 62. 
Ease, 56, 62, 65, 122, 131. 

Elegance, 29, 31, 131. 

Ellipsis, 42, 142. 

Ellis, A. J., 133, 134. 

Emotions, mastery of, 21 ; growth of, 46; 
Wundt's classification of, 47 ; moods, 
48 ; passions, 48 ; emotional atmos- 
phere, 48, 141 ; emotional movement, 
101; inflection, 103; expression of 
(Darwin), 116. 

Emphasis, 80. 

Enebuske, 136. 

Enunciation, 76, 79. 

Essentials of Public Speaking, 27. 

Expression, 15, 18, 21, 35; the chest in, 
126; the eye in, 71 ; the feet and legs 
in, 127 ; the head in, 129 ; the shoulder 
in, 129. 

Feelings, control of, 58. 
Feelings, tone of, 59. 
Foot-groups, 108. 
Force, 28, 31. 
Fronting the voice, 79, 98. 

Gesture, Darwin's principles of, 116; 
Sir Charles Bell's, 117 ; Wundt's, 118; 
subjective, 118; laws of, 119; faults 
of, 121; relaxing for, 122; first series 
of, 124; second series of, 125; the 
chest in, 126; the feet and legs in, 
127; the hand in, 127; the shoulder 
in, 129; the head in, 129. 

Glottis, stroke of, 98. 
Good- will, 72. 
Grace, 34, 131. 
Grouping or phrasing, 82. 

Habit, 61. 

Harmony of function, 131. 

Hartwell, 136. 

Hill, A. S., 28. 

Hortatory, 149. 

Hypnotism, 70. 



207 



208 



INDEX 



Ideas, 37, 41, 44. 
Imagination, 22, 43, 157. 
Imitative modulation, 115. 
Individuality, 21, 22. 
Inflection, 103. 

Judgment, 40. 

Key, 112. 

Language, 32, 33 ; social function of, 15. 

Lanier, S., 107. 

Loudness, 113. 

Logical relations, 40, 141. 

Macaulay, 40. 
Magnetism, 69. 
Mcllvain, 33. 
Meaning, 35, 41. 
Melody of speech, no, in. 
Mental content, 34. 
Minor tones, 105, in. 
Misconceptions, 34. 
Modulation, 115. 
Monotone, 103, 105, 112. 
Monroe, Dean L. B., 4. 
Moods, 21, 59. 
Movement, 145. 

Narration, 145. 
New Elocution, 3. 
Newman, J. H., 28. 
New idea, 142. 
Noise, 64, 88. 

Objective treatment, 1 1, 144. 
Oratory, 28, 50, 149. 

Parentheses, 40. 

Pause, 28, 42, 66, 81, 82, 84, 106, 114. 

Personality, 22. 

Persuasion, 28, 50, 102. 

Pharynx, shaping, 97. 

Phillips, Wendell, 3. 

Phrasing, 82. 

Physical development, 136. 

Pitch, 80, 82, 100, 103, no. 

Placing the voice, 97. 

Praxis, 145. 

Problems, 17, 20. 

Process, predominant and subordinate, 

17; complex, 29. 
Pronunciation, 132. 
Psychology, 3, 107, 116. 
Public speaking, 13, 16, 20. 
Punctuation, 84. 



Quintilian, 28. 

Rate, 113. 

Reading, distinguished, 13, 14, 16. 

Regeneration, 23. 

Reserved force, 62. 

Rhetoric, 13. 

Rhythm, 14, 106, 157. 

Rhythmical prose, 108. 

Ruskin, John, 33. 

Scansion, 107. 

Scheme, 29, 31. 

Self-consciousness, 52. 

Semitone, 105. 

Silence, 44, 66, 106. 

Slides, 104. 

Soliloquy, 71. 

Sound, 88. 

Sources of Oratory, 31, 33. 

Speaking, 14. 

Specialization of Function, 63. 

Spontaneity, 37. 

Stress, 112. 

Strong talk, 57. 

Stage fright, 56; " Stagy," 30. 

Subordinate processes, 17, 20. 

Subjective treatment, 18, 19, 140. 

Sweet, H., 133. 

Syllabication, 76. 

Sympathy, 72. 

Time, 113. 

Tones, compound, 89 ; musical, 90; pure, 

98 ; front, 98. 
Transition, 66, 83, 142. 
Types for praxis, 146, 149, 152, 157. 

Unity, 75, 131. 

Variety, 15, 65, 74. 

Verse, 109. 

Vitality, physical, 54. 

Voice, good qualities of, 86; defects, 91; 
development, 92 ; support, 93 ; pla- 
cing, 97; fronting, 98; kinds of, 99; 
types, 101 ; agreeable, 135. 

Vowel, moulding, 77 ; list of, 78. 

Will, in control, 60. 
Word utterance, 35. 
Writing, process of, 35. 
Wundt, 118. 



INDEX TO SELECTIONS IN SHAKESPEARE 



I. Hotspur and Vernon. Henry IV., Part I., Act IV., scene i., 
lines 86-136. 

II. The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius. Julius Ccesar, Act IV., 
scene iii., lines 1-124. 

III. Hamlet's Reflections over Yorick's Skull. Hamlet, Act. V., 

scene i., lines 174-206. 

IV. Brutus's Oration. Julius Ccesar, Act III., scene ii., lines 12-48. 
V. Antony's Oration. Julius Ccesar, Act III., scene ii., lines 68- 

236. 
VI. Hamlet to his Mother. Hamlet, Act III., scene iv., lines 53-88. 
VII. Macbeth anticipating the Murder of Duncan. Macbeth, Act I., 
scene vii., lines 1—28. 
VIII. Falstaff's Description of the Soldiers. Henry IV., Part I., Act 
IV., scene ii., lines 12-54. 
IX. Polonius's Counsel to Laertes. Ha?nlet, Act I., scene iii., lines 
56-82. 
X. Observation on Music. Merchant of Venice, Act V., scene i., 
lines 54-89. 
XI. York on Bolingbroke's Reception. King Richard II., Act V., 
scene ii., lines 8-40. 
XII. Hotspur to the King. King Henry IV., Part I., Act I., scene 
iii., lines 29-69. 
XIII. Cordelia's Gratitude to Kent. King lear, Act IV., scene vii., 

lines 1-99. 
XIV. Court Scene. Merchant of Venice, Act IV., scene i., lines 

168-262. 
XV. The Shepherdess' Welcome. The Winter's Tale, Act IV., 

scene iv., lines 73-128 and 136-151. 
XVI. Hamlet's Grief. Ha?nlet, Act I., scene ii., lines 129-159. 

209 



2IO 



INDEX 



XVII. The Ghost's Revelation. Hamlet, Act I., scene v., lines 49-92. 
XVIII. Hamlet's Description of Man. Hamlet, Act II., scene ii., lines 
289-304. 

XIX. Hamlet's Soliloquy. Hamlet, Act III., scene i., lines 56-90. 
XX. Hamlet on his Hesitancy. Hamlet, Act IV., scene iv., lines 

31-66. 
XXI. Iago on Iago. Othello, Act I., scene i., lines 42-66. 
XXII. Othello's Welcome to Desdemona. Othello, Act II., scene i., 
lines 179-189. 

XXIII. Othello's Resolution. Othello, Act III., scene iii., lines 175— 

192. 

XXIV. Othello's Reasons for the Murder of Desdemona. Othello, Act 

V., scene ii., lines 1-22. 
XXV. Othello's Defence. Othello, Act V., scene ii., lines 338-355. 
XXVI. Horatio, Hamlet, and Bernardo. Hamlet, Act I., scene ii., 
lines 159-212. 
XXVII. Hotspur's Anger. King Henry IV., Part I., Act I., scene iii., 
lines 1 18-188. 



INDEX TO BIBLE SELECTIONS 



I. Christ's Sermon on the Mount .... Matt, v., vi., vii. 

II. Christ's Testimony concerning John . . Matt. xi. 

III. Christ reproves the Pharisees .... Matt, xxiii. 13-39. 

IV. Mary's Hymn of Praise Luke i. 46-55. 

V. The Prophecy of Zacharias Luke i. 68-80 

VI. The Parable of the Prodigal Son . . . Luke xv. 11-32. 

VII. Christ and the Woman at Jacob's Well . John iv. 

VIII. Paul on Mars' Hill Acts xvii. 22-31. 

IX. Paul before Agrippa Acts xxvi. 

X. Exhortations Rom. xii. 

XI. Exhortation to Faith Heb. xi. 



INDEX 



211 



XII. The Book with Seven Seals .... Rev. v. 

XIII. The Destruction of Babylon .... Rev. xix. 

XIV. Jacob's Blessing to his Sons .... Gen. xlix. 
XV. The Song of Moses Ex. xv. 1-21. 

XVI. The Ten Commandments Ex. xx. 

XVII. The Majesty of God Dent, xxxiii. 

XVIII. David's Lamentation of Saul and Jona- 
than 2 Sam. i. 17-27. 

XIX. The Frailty of Life Job xiv. 

XX. The Mighty Works of God .... Job xxxviii. 

XXI. The Reward of Righteousness . . . Psalm i. 

XXII. David's Trust in God Psalm xviii. 

XXIII. David's Confidence in God's Favor . Psalm xxiii. 

XXIV. God's Lordship in the World . . . Psalm xxiv. 
XXV. The Majesty of God Psalm 1. 1-15. 

XXVI. The Frailty of Human Life .... Psalm xc. 

XXVII. Exhortation to fear God Psalm civ. 

XXVIII. Psalm of Prayer and Praise .... Psalm cxix. 

XXIX. David praiseth God for his Providence, Psalm cxxxix. i-ii 

XXX. Comfort to Jerusalem Isaiah xl. 

XXXI. Christ's Suffering Isaiah liii. 

XXXII. The Call to Faith Isaiah lv. 



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